Octavius, after hours, used his shop as his sitting-room. With the curtains drawn, the lamp on his reading-table glowing and the firelight shining on his ranks of books, the room was enchanting. So, in his way, was Octavius, sunk deep in a red morocco chair with his book in his hand and his cat on his knee.
He had removed his best suit and, out of habit, had changed into old grey trousers and a disreputable but becoming velvet coat. For about an hour after Richard Dakers left (Anelida having refused to see him), Octavius had been miserable. Then she had come down, looking pale but familiar, saying she was sorry she’d been tiresome. She had kissed the top of his head and made him an omelet for his supper and had settled in her usual Monday night place on the other side of the fireplace behind a particularly large file in which she was writing up their catalogue. Once, Octavius couldn’t resist sitting up high in order to look at her and as usual she made a hideous face at him and he made one back at her, which was a private thing they did on such occasions. He was reassured but not entirely so. He had a very deep affection for Anelida, but he was one of those people in whom the distress of those they love begets a kind of compassionate irritation. He liked Anelida to be gay and dutiful and lovely to look at: when he suspected that she had been crying he felt at once distressed and helpless and the sensation bored him because he didn’t understand it.
When Alleyn rang the bell Anelida answered it. He saw, at once, that she had done her eyes up to hide the signs of tears.
Many of Octavius’s customers were also his friends and it was not unusual for them to call after hours. Anelida supposed that Alleyn’s was that sort of visit and so did Octavius, who was delighted to see him. Alleyn sat down between them, disliking his job.
‘You look so unrepentantly cosy and Dickensian,’ he said, ‘both of you, that I feel like an interloper.’
‘My dear Alleyn, I do hope your allusion is not to that other and unspeakable little Nell and her drooling grandparent. No, I’m sure it’s not. You are thinking of Bleak House, perhaps, and your fellow-investigator’s arrival at his friend’s fireside. I seem to remember, though, that his visit ended uncomfortably in an arrest. I hope you’ve left your manacles at the Yard.’
Alleyn said: ‘As a matter of fact, Octavius, I am here on business, though not, I promise, to take either of you into custody.’
‘Really? How very intriguing! A bookish reference perhaps? Some malefactor with a flair for the collector’s item?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Alleyn said. ‘It’s a serious business, Octavius, and indirectly it concerns you both. I believe you were at Miss Mary Bellamy’s birthday party this evening, weren’t you?’
Anelida and her uncle both made the same involuntary movement of their hands. ‘Yes,’ Octavius said. ‘For a short time. We were.’
‘When did you arrive?’
‘At seven. We were asked,’ Octavius said, ‘for six-thirty, but Anelida informed me it is the “done thing” nowadays to be late.’
‘We waited,’ Anelida said, ‘till other people had begun to stream in.’
‘So you kept an eye on the earlier arrivals?’
‘A bit. I did. They were rather intimidating.’
‘Did you by any chance see anybody go in with a bunch of Parma violets?’
Octavius jerked his leg. ‘Damn you, Hodge,’ he ejaculated and added mildly: ‘He makes bread on one’s thigh. Unconscionable feline, be gone.’
He cuffed the cat and it leapt indignantly to the floor.
Alleyn said: ‘I know you left early. I believe I know why.’
‘Mr Alleyn,’ Anelida said. ‘What’s happened? Why are you talking like this?’
Alleyn said: ‘It is a serious matter.’
‘Has Richard …?’ she began and stopped. ‘What are you trying to tell us?’
‘He’s all right. He’s had a shock but he’s all right.’
‘My dear Alleyn …’
‘Unk,’ she said, ‘we’d better just listen.’
And Alleyn told them, carefully and plainly, what had happened. He said nothing of the implications.
‘I wonder,’ he ended, ‘that you haven’t noticed the comings and goings outside.’
‘Our curtains are drawn as you see,’ Octavius said. ‘We had no occasion to look out. Had we, Nelly?’
Anelida said: ‘This will hurt Richard more than anything else that has ever happened to him.’ And then with dismay: ‘I wouldn’t see him when he came in. I turned him away. He won’t forgive me and I won’t forgive myself.’
‘My darling child, you had every cause to behave as you did. She was an enchanting creature but evidently not always prettily behaved,’ Octavius said. ‘I always think,’ he added, ‘that one does a great disservice to the dead when one praises them inaccurately. Nil nisi, if you will, but at least let the bonum be authentic.’
‘I’m not thinking of her!’ she cried out. ‘I’m thinking of Richard.’
‘Are you, indeed, my pet?’ he said uncomfortably.
Anelida said: ‘I’m sorry, Mr Alleyn. This is bad behaviour, isn’t it? You must put it down to the well-known hysteria of theatre people.’
‘I put it down to the natural result of shock,’ Alleyn said, ‘and believe me, from what I’ve seen of histrionic behaviour yours is in the last degree conservative. You must be a beginner.’
‘How right you are!’ she said and looked gratefully at him.
The point had been reached where he should tell them of the implications and he was helped by Octavius, who said: ‘But why, my dear fellow, are you concerned in all this? Do the police in cases of accident – ?’
‘That’s just it,’ Alleyn said. ‘They do. They have to make sure.’
He explained why they had to make sure. When he said that he must know exactly what had happened in the conservatory, Anelida turned so pale that he wondered if she, too, was going to faint. But she waited for a moment, taking herself in hand, and then told him, very directly, what had happened.
Timon Gantry, Montague and Richard had been talking to her about her reading the leading role in Husbandry in Heaven. Mary Bellamy had come in, unnoticed by them, and had heard enough to make her realize what was afoot.
‘She was very angry,’ Anelida said steadily. ‘She thought of it as a conspiracy and she accused me of – of …’ Her voice faltered but in a moment she went on. ‘She said I’d been setting my cap at Richard to further my own ends in the theatre. I don’t remember everything she said. They all tried to stop her but that seemed to make her more angry. Kate Cavendish and Bertie Saracen had come in with Mr Templeton. When she saw them she attacked them as well. It was something about another new production. She accused them, too, of conspiracy. I could see Unk on the other side of the glass door: like somebody you want very badly in a nightmare and can’t reach. And then Mr Templeton went out and spoke to him. And then I went out. And Unk behaved perfectly. And we came home.’
‘Beastly experience,’ Alleyn said. ‘For both of you.’
‘Oh, horrid,’ Octavius agreed. ‘And very puzzling. She was, to meet, you know, so perfectly enchanting. One is quite at a loss …’ He rumpled his hair.
‘Poor Unky!’ Anelida said.
‘Was Colonel Warrender in the conservatory?’
‘That is Templeton’s cousin, isn’t it? One sees the likeness,’ said Octavius. ‘Yes, he was. He came into the hall and tried to say something pleasant, poor man.’
‘So did the others,’ Anelida said. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t as responsive as I ought to have been. I – we just walked out.’
‘And Richard Dakers walked out after you?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He did. And I went off to my room and wouldn’t see him. Which is so awful.’
‘So what did he do?’ Alleyn asked Octavius.
‘Do? Dakers? He was in a great taking-on. I felt sorry for him. Angry, you know, with her. He said a lot of hasty, unpleasant things which I feel sure he didn’t mean.’
‘What
sort of things?’
‘Oh! ‘Octavius said. ‘It was, as far as I recollect, to the effect that Mrs Templeton had ruined his life. All very extravagant and ill-considered. I was sorry to hear it.’
‘Did he say what he meant to do when he left here?’
‘Yes, indeed. He said he was going back to have it out with her. Though how he proposed to do anything of the sort in the middle of a party, one can’t imagine. I went to the door with him, trying to calm him down, and I saw him go into the house.’
‘And that was the last you saw of him?’
‘In point of fact, yes. The telephone rang at that moment. It’s in the back room as you’ll remember. I answered it and when I returned here I thought for a moment he had done so, too. I suppose because he was so much in my mind.’
Anelida made a small ejaculation, but her uncle went on: ‘A ludicrous mistake. It was dark in here by then – very – and he was standing in silhouette against the windows. I said, “My dear chap, what now?” or something of that sort, and he turned and then, of course, I saw it was Colonel Warrender, you know.’
‘What had he come for?’ Anelida asked rather desperately.
‘Well, my dear, I suppose on behalf of his cousin and to repeat his vicarious apologies and to attempt an explanation. I felt it much better to make as little of the affair as possible: after all, we don’t know Warrender and in any case it was really nothing to do with him. He meant very well, no doubt. I was, I hope, perfectly civil but I got rid of him in a matter of seconds.’
‘Yes,’ Alleyn said. ‘I see. To side-track for a moment, I suppose you’re by way of being an authority on Victorian tinsel pictures, aren’t you? Do you go in for them? I seem to remember …’
‘How very odd!’ Octavius exclaimed. ‘My dear fellow, I sold one this morning to young Dakers, as a birthday present for – oh, well, there you are! – for his guardian.’
‘Madam Vestris?’
‘You saw it then? Charming, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Alleyn said. ‘Charming.’
Anelida had been watching Alleyn, as he was well aware, very closely. She now asked him the question he had expected.
‘Mr Alleyn,’ Anelida said. ‘Do you think it was not an accident?’
He gave her the inevitable answer. ‘We don’t know. We’re not sure.’
‘But what do you believe? In your heart? I must know. I won’t do anything silly or make a nuisance of myself. Do you believe she was murdered?’
Alleyn said: ‘I’m afraid I do, Anelida.’
‘Have you told Richard?’
‘Not in so many words.’
‘But he guessed?’
‘I don’t know,’ Alleyn said carefully,’ what he thought. I’ve left him to himself for a little.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s had a very bad shock. He fainted.’
She looked steadily at him and then with a quick collected movement rose to her feet.
‘Unk,’ she said, ‘don’t wait up for me and don’t worry.’
‘My dear girl,’ he said, in a fluster, ‘what do you mean? Where are you going?’
‘To Richard,’ she said. ‘Where else? Of course to Richard.’
CHAPTER 6
On The Scent
When Anelida rang the bell at 2 Pardoner’s Place, it was answered, almost at once, by a policeman.
She said: ‘It’s Miss Lee. I’ve been talking to Superintendent Alleyn. He knows I’m here and I think is probably coming himself in a moment. I want to speak to Mr Richard Dakers.’
The policeman said: ‘I see, miss. Well, now, if you’ll wait a moment I’ll just find out whether that’ll be all right. Perhaps you’d take a chair.’
‘No, thank you. I want to see him at once, please.’
‘I’ll ascertain …’ he had begun rather austerely when Alleyn himself arrived.
‘Sir?’
‘Yes, all right. Is Mr Dakers still in the drawing-room? Good.’ Alleyn looked at Anelida. ‘Come along,’ he said. She lifted her chin and went to him.
She was in a state of mind she had never before experienced. It was as if her thoughts and desires and behaviour had been abruptly simplified and were governed by a single intention. She knew that somewhere within herself she must be afraid, but she also knew that fear, as things had turned out, was inadmissible.
She followed Alleyn across the hall. He said: ‘Here you are,’ and opened a door. She went from the hall into the drawing-room.
Immediately inside the door was a tall leather screen. She walked round it and there, staring out of a window, was Richard. Anelida moved a little towards him and halted. This gave her time to realize how very much she liked the shape of his head and at once she felt an immense tenderness for him and even a kind of exultation. In a second, she would speak his name, she would put herself absolutely on his side.
‘Richard,’ she said.
He turned. She noticed that his face had bleached, not conventionally, over the cheekbone, but at the temples and down the jaw-line.
‘Anelida?’
‘I had to come. I’m trying to make up for my bad behaviour. Here, you see, I am.’
He came slowly to her and when he took her hands in his, did so doubtfully. ‘I can’t believe my luck,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d lost you quite irrevocably. Cause enough, God knows.’
‘On the contrary, I assure you.’
He broke into an uncertain smile. ‘The things you say! Such grand phrases!’ His hands tightened on hers. ‘You know what’s happened, don’t you? About Mary?’
‘Yes. Richard, I’m so terribly sorry. And what a hopeless phrase that is!’
‘I shouldn’t let you stay. It’s not the place for you. This is a nightmare of a house.’
‘Do you want me? Am I any good: being here?’
‘I love you.’ He lifted her hands to his face. ‘Ah, no! Why did I tell you? This isn’t the time.’
‘Are you all right now – to talk, I mean? To talk very seriously?’
‘I’m all right. Come over here.’
They sat together on the sofa, Richard still holding her hands. ‘He told us you fainted,’ said Anelida.
‘Alleyn? Has he been worrying you?’
‘Not really. But it’s because of what he did say that I’m here. And because – Richard, when I wouldn’t see you and you went away – did you come back here?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did.’
‘Did you see her?’
He looked down at their clasped hands. ‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘In her room. Only for a few minutes. I – left her there.’
‘Was anyone else with you?’
‘Good God, no!’ he cried out.
‘And then? Then what?’
‘I went away. I walked for heaven knows how long. When I came back – it was like this.’
There was a long silence. At last Richard said very calmly: ‘I know what you’re trying to tell me. They think Mary has been murdered and they wonder if I’m their man. Isn’t it?’
Anelida leant towards him and kissed him. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘At least, I think so. We’ll get it tidied up and disposed of in no time. But, I think, that’s it.’
‘It seems,’ he said, ‘so fantastic. Too fantastic to be frightening. You mustn’t be frightened. You must go away, my darling heart, and leave me to – to do something about it.’
‘I’ll go when I think it’ll make things easier for you. Not before.’
‘I love you so much. I should be telling you how much, not putting this burden upon you.’
‘They may not leave me with you for long. You must remember exactly what happened. Where you went. Who may have seen you. And, Richard, you must tell them what she was doing when you left.’
He released her hands and pressed the palms of his own to his eyes. ‘She was laughing,’ he said.
‘Laughing? They’ll want to know why, won’t they? What you both said to m
ake her laugh.’
‘Never!’ he said violently. ‘Never!’
‘But – they’ll ask you.’
‘They can ask and ask and ask again. Never!’
‘You must!’ she said desperately. ‘Think! It’s what one always reads – that innocent people hold out on the police and muddle everything up and put themselves in the wrong. Richard, think what they’ll find out anyway! That she spoke as she did to me, that you were angry, that you said you’d never forgive her. Everyone in the hall heard you. Colonel Warrender …’
‘He!’ Richard said bitterly. ‘He won’t talk. He daren’t.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh!’ she cried out. ‘You are frightening me! What’s going to happen when they ask you about it? What’ll they think when you won’t tell them!’
‘They can think what they like.’ He got up and began to walk about the room. ‘Too much has happened. I can’t get it into perspective. You don’t know what it’s like. I’ve no right to load it on to you.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ Anelida said desperately. ‘I love you. It’s my right to share.’
‘You’re so young.’
‘I’ve got all the sense I’m ever likely to have.’
‘Darling!’
‘Never mind about me! You needn’t tell me anything you don’t want to. It’s what you’re going to say to them that matters.’
‘I will tell you – soon – when I can.’
‘If it clears you they won’t make any further to-do about it. That’s all they’ll worry about. Clearing it up. You must tell them what happened. Everything.’
‘I can’t.’
‘My God, why?’
‘Have you any doubts about me? Have you!’
She went to him. ‘You must know I haven’t.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can see that.’
They stared at each other. He gave an inarticulate cry and suddenly she was in his arms.
Gracefield came through the folding doors from the dining-room.
‘Supper is served, sir,’ he said.
Alleyn rose from his uncomfortable seclusion behind the screen, slipped through the door into the hall, shut it soundlessly behind him and went up to their office.