Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 10: Last Ditch, Black As He’s Painted, Grave Mistake. Ngaio Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ his own people committed a crime?’ Mr Whipplestone urged. Fox made a noise of agreement.

      Alleyn said: ‘No. Perhaps he doesn’t – want to,’ and vexedly rubbed his nose. ‘All the same,’ he said, ‘I think we may be fishing in the wrong pond. In very muddy waters, at all events.’

      ‘Do you mind,’ Mr Whipplestone asked, ‘if I put a very direct question to you?’

      ‘How can I tell, till I hear it?’

      ‘Quite. Here goes then. Do you think an attempt was made upon the President?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And do you think it will be repeated?’

      ‘I think it’s only too likely that something else may be tried. Only too likely,’ said Alleyn.

      There was a long silence.

      ‘What happens now, Mr Alleyn?’ asked Fox at last.

      ‘I’m damned if I know. Call it a night, I suppose. We’ve been given our marching orders and no mistake. Come on. We’d better tell Fred Gibson, hadn’t we?’

      Mr Gibson was not sorry to get the sack from the Embassy. It relieved him of an untenable and undefinable task and left him free to supervise the orthodox business of mounting security measures outside the premises and wherever the President might take it into his head to go during the remainder of his visit. He expressed muffled but profound satisfaction when Alleyn pointed out that the public appearances would probably be curtailed when not cancelled.

      ‘You could say,’ he mumbled presently, ‘that after a fashion we’ve picked up a bit of joy in this show.’ And he divulged that they had found the shell of the shot fired from the Luger. It was on the ground outside the lavatory window. They’d had no luck with a bullet.

      ‘But,’ said Gibson with a kind of huffy satisfaction, ‘I don’t reckon we need to shed tears over that one. Take a look at this.’

      He opened his large pale hand. Alleyn and Fox bent over it.

      ‘Wad?’ Fox said. ‘Here! Wait a sec. I wonder now.’

      ‘Yes,’ Alleyn said, ‘Fred. I wonder if you’ve drawn a blank.’ They left the Embassy.

      Troy was awake when Alleyn got home. She called out to him to save him the trouble of trying not to disturb her. When he came in she was sitting up in bed with her arms round her knees.

      ‘Not a nice party, after all,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry, my darling.’

      ‘Have you –?’

      ‘No. Troy. I had to let you go off without a word. I couldn’t look after you. Were you very much shocked?’

      ‘I didn’t really see. Well – yes – I did see but in a funny sort of way it didn’t look – real. And it was only for a flash – not more than a second or two. In a way, I didn’t believe it.’

      ‘Good.’

      ‘Everybody sort of milling round.’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘And you got us all out of the way so very expeditiously.’

      ‘Did I?’

      ‘Yes. But –’ she bit her lip and said very quickly – ‘it was the spear, wasn’t it? He was speared?’

      He nodded and put her irregular dark locks of hair out of her eyes.

      ‘Then,’ Troy said, ‘haven’t you arrested that superb-looking being?’

      ‘The Boomer says the superb-looking being didn’t do it. And anyway we haven’t the authority inside the Embassy. It’s a rum go and no mistake. Do you want to hear?’

      ‘Not now. You’d better get some sleep.’

      ‘Same to you. I shall have a bath. Good morning, my love. Oh – I forgot. I have a present for you from The Boomer!’

      ‘For me? What can you mean?’

      ‘He wants you to paint him. His suggestion, not mine.’

      Troy was immovable for several seconds. She then gave Alleyn a quick exultant look and suddenly burrowed into her pillow.

      He stared down at her and reflected on things one was supposed to remember about the artistic temperament. He touched her hair and went off to his bath with the dawn light paling the window.

       CHAPTER 6

       Afternoon in the Capricorns

      When, in response to a telephone call taken by Troy, Alleyn called on the following afternoon at No. 1, Capricorn Walk, he was received on the front steps by Lucy Lockett, the cat.

      She sat, with a proprietory air on the top step and had a good look at him.

      ‘I know who you are,’ said Alleyn. ‘Good afternoon, my dear.’ He extended his forefinger. Lucy rose, stretched elaborately, yawned and advanced her whiskers to within an inch of the fingertip. Mr Whipplestone looked out of his open bow window.

      ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘I won’t be a second.’

      Lucy sprang adroitly from the steps to the window-sill and thence into the bosom of her master, who presently opened the front door, still carrying her.

      ‘Come in, do, do,’ he said. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’

      ‘What a nice house you’ve got.’

      ‘Do you think so? I must say I like it.’

      ‘You hadn’t far to walk last night – or this morning.’

      ‘No. Do you know, Alleyn, when I was coming home at whatever eldritch hour, I caught myself wondering – well, almost wondering – if the whole affair could have been some sort of hallucination. Rather like that dodging-about-in-time nonsense they do in science fiction plays: as if it had happened off the normal temporal plane. The whole thing – so very – ah – off beat. Wasn’t it?’

      ‘Was and is,’ Alleyn agreed.

      He found Mr Whipplestone himself rather off-beat as he sat primly on his desk chair in his perfectly tailored suit, with his Trumper-style hair-cut, his discreet necktie, his elegant cuff-links, his eyeglass and, pounding away at his impeccable waistcoat, his little black cat.

      ‘About Chubb,’ he said anxiously, ‘I’m awfully bothered about Chubb. You see, I don’t know – and he hasn’t said anything – and I must say Mrs Chubb looks too ghastly for words.’

      ‘He hasn’t told you the black waiter СКАЧАТЬ