Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 9: Clutch of Constables, When in Rome, Tied Up in Tinsel. Ngaio Marsh

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      ‘Is the gate from this yard to the road unlocked during the day?’

      ‘Yes, it is unlocked. To oblige.’

      ‘Have many people been in over the last two days, would you say?’

      Not many, it appeared. His customers, as a general rule came into the shop. All the stuff in the yard was of a size or worthlessness that made it unpilferable. It was evident that anybody with a mind to it could wander round the yard without Mr Bagg being aware of their presence. Under persuasion he recalled one or two locals who had drifted in and bought nothing. Alleyn delicately suggested that perhaps Mrs Bagg –?

      ‘Mrs Bagg,’ said Mr Bagg, ‘is in bed and asleep which game to rouse her, I am not. No more would you be if you knew how she can shape up.’

      ‘But if your wife –’

      ‘Wife? Do me a favour! She’s my mum.’

      ‘Oh.’

      As if to confirm the general trend of thought a female voice like a saw screamed from inside the cottage that its owner wanted to know what the hell Mr Bagg thought he was doing creating a nuisance in the middle of the night.

      ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Now, see what you done.’ He approached a window at the rear of the cottage and tapped on it. ‘It’s me,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s not the middle of the night, Mum, it’s early. It’s Mr Tillottson of the Police, Mum, and a gentleman friend. They was inquiring about them Yanks what bought that stuff.’

      ‘I can’t hear you. Police! Did you say Police? ’Ere! Come round ’ere this instant-moment, Jo Bagg, and explain yerself: Police.’

      ‘I better go,’ he said and re-entered the cottage.

      ‘The old lady,’ Mr Tillottson said, ‘is a wee bit difficult.’

      ‘So it would seem.’

      ‘They make out she’s nearly a hundred.’

      ‘But she’s got the stamina?’

      ‘My oath!’

      The Baggs were in conversation beyond the window but at a subdued level and nothing could be made of it. When Mr Bagg reemerged he spoke in a whisper.

      ‘Do me a favour, gents,’ he whispered. ‘Move away.’

      They withdrew into the shop and from thence to the front door.

      ‘She’s deaf,’ Mr Bagg said, ‘but there are times when you wouldn’t credit it. She don’t know anything about nothing but she worked it out that if this picture you mention is a valuable antique it’s been taken off us by false pretences and we ought to get it back.’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘That’s the view she takes. And so,’ Mr Bagg added loyally, ‘do I. Now!’

      ‘I dare say you do,’ Mr Tillottson readily conceded. ‘Very natural. And she’s no ideas about how it got there?’

      ‘No more nor the Holy Saints in Heaven, and she’s a Catholic,’ Mr Bagg said unexpectedly.

      ‘Well, we’ll bid you goodnight, Jo. Unless Mr Alleyn has anything further?’

      ‘Not at the moment, thank you Mr Bagg.’

      Mr Bagg wrenched open the front door to the inevitable screech which was at once echoed from the back bedroom.

      ‘You ask them Police,’ screamed old Mrs Bagg, ‘why they don’t do something about them motorbiking Beasts instead of making night hijjus on their own accounts.’

      ‘What motorbiking beasts?’ Alleyn suddenly yelled into the darkness.

      ‘You know. And if you don’t you ought to. Back-firing up and down the streets at all hours and hanging round up to no good. Jo! Show them out and get to bed.’

      ‘Yes, Mum.’

      ‘And another thing,’ invisibly screamed Mrs Bagg. ‘What was them two Americans doing nosey-parkering about the place last-week-was a-month-back, taking photers and never letting-on they was the same as before.’

      Alleyn set himself to bawl again and thought better of it. ‘What does she mean?’ he asked Mr Bagg.

      ‘You don’t have to notice,’ he said. ‘But it’s correct, all right. They been here before, see, taking photographs and Mum recognized them. She wouldn’t have made nothink of it only for suspecting they done us.’

      ‘When were they here? Where did they stay?’

      ‘In the spring. May. Late April: I wouldn’t know. But it was them all right. They made out, when I says weren’t they here before, they was that taken with the place they come back for more.’

      ‘You’re sure about this?’

      ‘Don’t be funny,’ Mr Bagg said. ‘Course I’m sure. This way, for Gawd’s sake.’

      They went out. Mr Bagg had re-addressed himself to the door when Alleyn said: ‘Can you tell us anything about these motorcyclists?’

      ‘Them? Couple of mods. Staying up at the Star in Chantry Street. Tearing about the country all hours and disturbing people. Tuesday evening Mum ’eard something in our yard and caught the chap nosing round. Looking for old chain he said, but she didn’t fancy him. She took against him very strong, did Mum, and anyway we ain’t got no old chain. Chain!’

      ‘Why,’ began Mr Tillottson on a note of anguish, ‘didn’t you mention –’

      ‘I never give it a thought. You can’t think of everything.’

      ‘Nor you can,’ Alleyn hurriedly intervened. ‘But now you have thought, can you tell us what drew Mrs Bagg’s attention to the chap in the yard?’

      ‘Like I said, she ’eard something.’

      ‘What, though?’

      ‘Some sort of screech. I ’eard it too.’

      ‘You did!’

      ‘But I was engaged with a customer,’ Mr Bagg said majestically, ‘in my shop.’

      ‘Could the screech have been made by the door in the sideboard?’

      Mr Bagg peered into Alleyn’s face as if into that of an oracle. ‘Mister,’ he said, ‘it not only could but it did.’ He took thought and burst into protestation.

      ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I want an explanation. If I been done I want to know how I been done. If I been in possession of a valuable article and sold this article for a gift without being fully informed I want to get it back, fair and proper. Now.’

      They left him discontentedly pursuing this thought but not loudly enough to arouse the curiosity of old Mrs Bagg. The door shrieked СКАЧАТЬ