Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Vol. 63, No. 2. Whole No. 363, February 1974

Face Value by Margery Allingham[7]

As subtly conceived a detective short story as you’ve read in a long time, and subtly told by one of the great “moderns” of the genre... in which you will observe Albert Campion, criminologist, in an oblique way — for the most part, only catching glimpses of him in the wings; yet, despite Campion’s being almost offstage, you will learn more about this gentleman detective than if, as is usual for the protagonist, he were onstage front and center...

“I little thought,” wrote Sir Theo in unaccustomed longhand, while the great desk spread round him and the silence of the magnificent room was intense, “I little thought that towards the close of a long, arduous, and, I think I may say with modesty, not unuseful career, I should hear myself described, albeit sotto voce, by a senior officer of the Criminal Investigation Department as a Pompous Old Ass.”

He hesitated and his pen made little circles in the air above the faint blue lines in the exercise book which Miss Keddey herself had run out to buy for him.

“Pompous old ass.” He wrote it again without capitals. “At the age of fifty-three — hardly a dotage, if certain aspects of the last war are any criterion — such an experience must give any sapient” (crossed out) “farseeing” (crossed out) “honest” (underlined) “man furiously to think.”

He sat back in the beautiful chair which he had inherited from Sir Joseph, the first head of the great firm, read what he had written, and permitted a dismayed expression to flit over his handsome clean-shaven face. He removed his eyeglass and changed it for the pair of bent pince-nez which he kept for reading contracts, and, since the room was deserted and the door locked, spoke aloud:

“No need to be a ruddy fool!” He bent again to write. “I have only one natural gift — my success had been due entirely to hard work — and I may at times have appeared vain of it. Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit. But the fact remains, I have noticed and remarked on it time and time again, I never forget a face. My family, Miss Keddey — who has been my secretary for twenty years — my colleagues on the Board, my brother justices on the Bench, the officers with whom — despite my great age! — I was privileged to serve in the Southern Command, everybody who knows me, will confirm that, pompous though I may be, this is my undisputed gift.

“It has shown itself many times. When Robert St. John walked into the Club after thirty years, wearing a great black beard as long as one’s arm, who recognized him before he had satisfied even the wine waiter? And who — but this is unnecessary. My gift is undisputed and the matter I have to consider here is more complex.

“I come now to Nicholas Parish. This young man entered the firm, of which I have the honor to be the Chairman, some few years before the war. I knew his father and did not like him, but it is typical of me that a circumstance of that sort is more likely to predispose me in favor of a youngster than to detract. Ass though I am, I try to be fair.

“Young Parish is handsome, flashy — by my aged standards — and, according to my wife, who met him once in this office, dangerous, whatever that may mean.

“From the start he showed force which I admired, an unconventional streak which was all very well since he had the wit to control it, and a genius for pushing a job through to its conclusion — the trait which made me like him. At one time he was in charge of our new Psychological department.

“During the period when I was the ‘unfit’ amateur colonel in an army department of ‘unfit’ amateurs, stationed in a sector of the South Coast which, by the grace of God, was never attacked (Ass perhaps, but not Fool, Mr. Superintendent), I found him a most efficient major. It would hardly be true to describe us as wartime comrades, for I am an old hand in the service of this firm and I have no illusions regarding friendships between the head of such a concern and the men who must ever, to their lives’ end, remain subordinates. But we got on very smoothly. I think I may say that. Very smoothly indeed.

“After the war we returned to our respective desks. In a short time his desk became a little larger. Mine remained as it is — as a matter of fact, so Sharman of the Bank was telling me (his hobby is irrelevant figures) — the largest, save one, in the world.

“Our association, Parish’s and mine, was never social. Theobald Park is in the country and when my wife makes what small effort she can to entertain in these times, the names of the junior members of my staff are not added to her secretary’s list. However, we lunched together on occasion and, while he introduced me to the amusing if frivolous Wardrobe, I have taken him to the Club. In fact, I believe he is on the waiting list so that, should he live a hundred years, poor fellow, his name may well come up before the Committee before he dies.

“That is how matters stood on the twenty-third of October last, the date which the Superintendent finds of such absorbing and recurrent interest. It was the night of our regimented dinner. I was to speak and I had, I confess, taken Parish’s opinion on the draft of the few words I intended to say. He was very helpful; I can see him now with that flicker in his dark eyes as some little joke of mine touched him.

“We were the only two senior officers from this firm attending and it seemed natural that we should go together. As I told the Superintendent and that odd, evasive fellow, Campion, who came with him on the third occasion, I have no idea who suggested it. My impression is that it was so obvious that it needed no suggestion. Frankly, I cannot envisage Parish suggesting a course of action to me; I am the natural leader in any decision, great or small. The only faintly unusual feature of our excursion was that I offered to pick him up at his home in Morter Street midway between the Club and the Porchester where we were to dine.

“The Superintendent, a squat obstinate man, did his best to get me to say that Parish asked me to fetch him, which would have been absurd. The younger man, Campion (some sort of consultant whose vague pale face I have seen somewhere unexpected, possibly in the bar of the House of Lords), muttered something more sensible about a man not being able to refuse a civility in certain circumstances, but I could not acquiesce. I am, as it were, the Captain of the Ship, and since I went to Morter Street I must have arranged it. I remember that both Parish and I spoke of the difficulties of parking at night and the inadvisability of taking two cars.

“His house is a pleasant, two-story affair, worth every penny of the rent he must pay for it. It is a cottage in London, snug and yet dignified. I noticed the leaded lights and the frilled muslin curtains particularly — with a pretty woman looking out from between them it might all have been on the stage of the old Gaiety. When Nicholas came running out to tell me we had made a slight mistake in the time and still had twenty minutes, I was only too delighted to step in and take a very good dry sherry with him.

“Poor little woman! She rose from the flowered couch which all but smothered her and greeted me like an old friend. In the discreet lighting I like, I saw her small face glowing and her eyes shine. Despite the decrepitude which is so evident to the Superintendent, I felt the warmer for her welcome.

“She held out both hands to me and said, ‘Sir Theo! Do you remember me?’

“Well, of course I did! And I was happy to tell her so. Since this report is, for a special purpose, I may admit that when I felt her hands tremble in mine it gave me a more pleasurable sensation than I have derived from anything of the kind for very many years. I remembered her face, naturally, but not only that. As soon as Parish mentioned Brabbington I was able to tell them when and where I had the pleasure of being introduced to her — at a sports meeting just before I left the army. At that time she was in uniform herself and those heavy costumes do not reveal a woman’s shape in the same way as does an expensive rose-silk gown — they are not designed to. She made even more impression on me at this second meeting, while we chatted in her charming room.

“I have been questioned again and again about this simple interlude and I have kept nothing back. The younger people were on edge. I admit it and I cannot think it strange or sinister. The first time Sir Joseph visited my wife and me, we were on edge.

“We drank excellent sherry and talked nonsense, or I did, mainly about Mrs. Parish’s charm. When their clock struck the half hour, Nicholas and I left for the dinner together.

“Poor little woman! She came to the door with us to kiss her husband. They were smiling brightly at each other and the only thing I remarked which was at all untoward — I only remember it now as I come to write — was that she refused a wrap and swore she was not cold although I noticed, as I bent towards her fair head, that her teeth were chattering.

“I last saw her waving to us from the bright green door and after that, until the message from the police was brought in to him at the table some hours afterwards, Parish did not leave my side.

“I saw the waiter bring him the note and heard his muttered word of excuse but I did not know, of course, what had called him away. Speeches were over by that time and, having done my duty, I was dozing by my glass. In wartime I discovered that I am no soldier, in peacetime I find myself doubly convinced.

“The shock came when I had got back to the Club, and was just in my room. Johnson came hurrying up to ask me if I would see an officer from Scotland Yard.

“That was my first visit from the Superintendent and he told me the news bluntly. At half-past nine that evening Mrs. Parish had been found by her sister, who had visited her unexpectedly, lying in her bedroom with her head smashed in and her pretty face obliterated by many savage blows. The maid had been out all evening, but the sister, it appeared, had a key.

“The Superintendent wanted to know, and he spoke with a frankness which set me wondering about the law of slander, if I could give ‘the husband,’ as he called poor Parish, ‘a clean sheet’!

“I soon got rid of the man. Parish had never left my side.

“Yet, in the morning, before I was up, the man was back again. He appeared with very little ceremony and requested me, somewhat amazingly I thought, to get up and go with him to a mortuary to identify the body. I own I made every effort to avoid the unpleasant experience, but, on the telephone, my solicitor was quite clear if not helpful, and at length I consented.

“We drove to a place which I found chill and there I saw what I expected to see — a fairheaded flower of a woman mutilated by unexampled brutality.

“The Superintendent — I hardly suppose any two men have ever disliked each other so thoroughly on a brief acquaintance-asked me if I could swear that the woman before me was the woman whom I had met on the evening before. He struck me as insane. At Parish’s house I had met Parish’s wife, whom I knew. Subsequently her relatives had identified these repellant remains as the poor lady’s body.

“I waited until I got outside and then gave him no more than he deserved; when I got back Miss Keddey put me through to the Commissioner with whom I had a word. That, one would have thought, should have been the end. Not a bit of it! The moment I was available — it was not until the evening — the unchastened Superintendent called again, bringing with him this consultant fellow, Campion.

“I do not admit that I took a liking to Albert Campion but there was certainly no offense in him. He behaved like a gentleman and his pale eyes behind his horn-rims were not unintelligent. Silencing his companion, who made me think of some square dog who was following him, he mentioned some gossip which I confess was new to me.

“Intimate friends of Mr. and Mrs. Parish had hinted that the couple did not get on. I was astonished to hear it but I know how difficult it is to judge such matters from a brief visit. Campion assured me that a solicitor had been consulted in regard to divorce proceedings but that Mrs. Parish had refused to sue. He told me, but it was hearsay, that Parish was reputed to have many liaisons — typists, shopgirls, minor actresses. It was hardly my affair. He told me the two had separate rooms and never dined together. I shook my head; it is extraordinary how other people live.

“Finally, since the interview was taking longer than I had time for, I invited them to put their cards on the table. Immediately the Superintendent, springing from the leash, advanced an extraordinary theory which I can only think was his own. He suggested that Parish had been free to murder his wife before I arrived at the house and had successfully convinced me that the woman he introduced as his wife was the one I had met at Brabbington. It was so absurd and so insulting that I told him of my peculiarity — I never forget a face. I added that I was prepared to go into a witness box and swear it. My old friend, Lord Justice Blossom, might, I thought, confirm me in this modest boast.

“He left after that and it was as he went out of the door (Miss Keddey is still tremulous) that he permitted himself the epithet with which I opened this account. Pompous, old, and an ass.

“As I recovered from my amazement I saw that this fellow Campion was still there. He has a certain charm.

“ ‘Zeal has no grace,’ he said and made me an adroit little compliment on the clarity of my evidence. Before very long — I forget how it came about — we were chatting of other things and I found that he was a member of the Junior Greys from whom the Club sometimes accepts hospitality at spring-cleaning time.

“At length I noticed he was hesitating, not venturing to bother me, and, as is my way when people are civil, I gave him a lead. He made what he admitted himself was a very odd request. He asked me to go with him to buy some flowers.

“Why I should have gone, merely to please him, must remain the only mystery in this episode.

“We entered the brightly lit Mayfair shop, hot and dark and smelling like a funeral, and a young woman came forward to serve us.

“Just for an instant I felt a sudden qualm. The likeness was in her movement, the eagerness of her walk, the brightness in her eyes, but at once I saw that I was wrong and I blamed the Superintendent for making a normally nerveless man fanciful. This girl had black hair, the blackest I have ever seen in a European; her face was pallid as wax and she kept her eyes downcast. Her clothes were nondescript and her voice was no more than a whisper.

“Campion spent so much time buying a few violets from her that I suspected him of not knowing his own mind but we came out at last and stood on the damp pavement together, near a street lamp.

“He gave me that gentle smile of his which reminds one that he has not the drive to make a success of his odious profession and said softly, ‘Of course, she has a face anyone could forget — even you, Sir Theo.’

“ ‘Who?’ said I. ‘The shop-girl? No, my boy, I shall know her again if ever I see her — which I doubt.’

“He sighed at that. ‘So,’ he said. ‘In that case I don’t suppose you ever will.’ Then, with a swiftness which surprised me, he pulled out a photograph and showed it to me in the light. It was one of these fuzzy modem prints showing a woman in Service uniform. She was the same type as Mrs. Parish, or the girl in the flower shop for that matter, but the photograph was bad and did not flatter her. She was babyish round — no animation.

“I guessed his plan and smiled.

“ ‘I remember her when she was like that — at Brabbington,’ I said. ‘It’s no good your worrying, Campion. I never do. I never forget a face.’

“I heard his laugh of resignation and we prepared to part. And then he shook me. ‘Yes,’ he said gently. ‘A great natural gift, Sir Theo — but it’s not your only one, you know.’ ”

The broad nib came to rest and the writer looked up. He was cramped and cold but there was determination in his small judicial mouth. He turned a page once more.

“I have made this record,” he wrote, “because it was an axiom of my predecessor’s that, when confronted by a grave and knotty problem, a man should sit down alone and transcribe his reflections in longhand, not for the edification of posterity, but for the clarification of his own mind.

“For some weeks I have been considering whom I should send to fill a recent vacancy, which has occurred with tragic suddenness, in the service of this firm in South America. The needed man should be resourceful, quick to action, as cunning as his enemies and not overburdened with conventional scruples. He should also understand men. If he succeeds he may become a minor dictator. If he does not succeed he may die.

“At this moment our Overseas Manager is waiting near his telephone; I have promised to give him my decision tonight.

“Shall I send Nicholas Parish?”

Sir Theo closed the exercise book. For a moment or two he sat, chin on hand, half aware that the glow from the coal fire opposite was turning his black coat to crimson and his linen to ermine.

At length he rose, tore the book to quarters, and threw them on the coals. As soon as the last charred flake flew upward he smiled briefly, returned to the desk, and picked up the telephone.