Death at the Bar (11 page)

“Ready and willing,” Abel said, with emphasis. “I’m ready and willing to do all I can. By my way of thinking you two gentlemen are here to clear my name, and I be mortal set on that scheme.”

“Right. Now will you tell me, as well as you can remember, where everybody stood at the moment when you poured out the second round of brandies. Can you remember? Try to call up the picture of this room as it was a fortnight ago to-night.”

“I can call all it to mind right enough,” said Abel, slowly. “I been calling to mind every night and a mighty number of times every night, since that ghassly moment. I was behind bar—”

“Let’s have those shutters away,” said Alleyn.

Fox unlocked the shutters and rolled them up. The private tap, proper, was discovered. A glass door, connecting the two bars, was locked, and through it Alleyn could see into the Public. Will Pomeroy was serving three fishermen. His shoulder was pressed against the glass door. He must have turned his head when he heard the sound of the shutters. He looked at Alleyn through his eyelashes, and then turned away.

Alleyn examined the counter in the private tap. It was stained with dregs, fourteen days old. Abel pointed to a lighter ring.

“Thurr’s where brandy bottle stood,” he said. “ ’Ess fay, thurr’s where she was, sure enough.”

“Yes. Now, where were the people? You say you stood behind the bar?”

“ ’Ess, and young Will was in corner ’twixt bar and dart board. Rest of ’em had just finished Round-the-Clock. Bob Legge had won. They used the old darts, and when he ran home, he put ’em back in that thurr wooden rack by board. Yurr they be. Nick Harper come over generous,” said Abel, with irony, “and left us they old darts. He collared the new ’uns.”

“Ah, yes,” said Alleyn hurriedly. “What about the rest of the party?”

“I’m telling you, sir. Chap Legge’d won the bout. Mr. Watchman says, ‘By God it’s criminal, Legge. Men have been jailed for less,’ he says, in his joking way. ‘Come on,’ he says, ‘us’ll have t’other half,’ he says, ‘and then, be George, if I don’t let ’ee have a go at my hand.’ He says it joking, sir; but to my mind, Mr. Watchman knew summat about Legge, and to my mind, Legge didn’t like it.”

Abel glanced through the glass door at Will, but Will’s back was turned. The three customers gaped shamelessly at Alleyn and Fox.

“Well, now,” Abel went on, lowering his voice, “Legge paid no ’tention to Mr. Watchman, ’cept to say casual-like: ‘I’ll do it all right, but don’t try it if you feel nervous,’ which wurr very wittiest manner of speech the man could think of to egg on Mr. Watchman, to set his fancy, hellbent, on doing it. ’Ess, Legge egged the man on, did Legge. That’s while he was putting away old darts. Then he moved off, tantalizing, to t’other end of room. T’other ladies and gentlemen was round bar, ’cepting Miss Darragh, who was setting with her writing in inglenook. Thurr’s her glass on t’old settle, sir. Stone ginger, she had. Miss Dessy, that’s Miss Moore, sir, she was setting on the bar, in the corner yurr, swinging her legs. That’ll be her glass on the ledge thurr. Stone ginger. The three gentlemen, they wurr alongside bar. Mr. Cubitt next Miss Dessy, then Mr. Watchman and then Mr. Parish. I ’member that, clear as daylight, along of Miss Darragh making a joke about ’em. ‘Three graces,’ she called ’em, being a fanciful kind of middle-aged lady.”

“That leaves Mr. George Nark.”

“So it does then, the silly old parrot. ’Ess. George Nark wurr setting down by table inside of door, laying down the law, as is the foolish habit of the man. Well now, I poured out the second tot beginning with Mr. Cubitt. Then Mr. Watchman and then Mr. Parish. Then George Nark brings his glass over, with his tongue hanging out, and insults t’murdered gentleman by axing for soda in this masterpiece of a tipple, having nigh-on suffercated hisself with first tot, golloping it down ferocious. No sooner does he swallow second tot that he’s proper blind tipsy. ’Ess, so soused as a herring, wurr old George Nark. Lastly, sir, Mr. Watchman gets Legge’s glass from mantelshelf and axes me to pour out the second tot.”

“Leaving his own glass on the bar between Mr. Parish and Mr. Cubitt?”

“ ’Ess. Legge wurr going to wait till after he’d done his trick. Us knows what wurr in the evil thoughts of the man. He wanted to keep his eye in so’s he could stick Mr. Watchman with thicky murderous dart.”

“Mr. Pomeroy,” said Alleyn, “I must warn you against making statements of that sort. You might land yourself in a very pretty patch of trouble, you know. What happened next? Did you pour out Mr. Legge’s brandy for him?”

“’Ess, I did. And Mr. Watchman tuk it to him saying he’d have no refusal. Then Mr. Watchman tuk his own dram over to table by dart board. He drank ’er down slow, and then says he: ‘Now for it.’ ”

“And had Mr. Legge been anywhere near Mr. Watchman’s glass?”

Abel looked mulish. “No, sir, no. Not azacly. Not at all. He drank his over in inglenook, opposite Miss Darragh. ’Twasn’t then the mischief wurr done, Mr. Alleyn.”

“Well,” said Alleyn, “we shall see. Now for the accident itself.”

The story of those few minutes, a story that Alleyn was to hear many times before he reached the end of this case, was repeated by Abel and tallied precisely with all the other accounts in Harper’s file, and with the report of the inquest.

“Very well,” said Alleyn. He paused for a moment and caught sight of Will’s three customers, staring with passionate interest through the glass door. He moved out of their range of vision.

“Now we come to the events that followed the injury. You fetched the iodine from that cupboard?”

“Sure enough, sir, I did.”

“Will you show me what you did?”

“Certainly. Somebody — Legge ’twas, out of the depths of his hypocrisy, says, ‘Put a drop of iodine on it,’ he says. Right. I goes to thicky cupboard which Nick Harper has played the fool with, mucking round with his cameras and squirts of powder. I opens bottom door this way, and thurr on shelf is my first-aid box.”

Alleyn and Fox looked at the cupboard. It was a double corner cabinet, with two glass doors one above the other. Abel had opened the bottom door. At the back of the shelf was a lidless tin, containing the usual first-aid equipment, and a very nice ship’s decanter. Abel removed the decanter.

“I’ll scald and scour ’er out,” he said. “Us’ll have your sherry in this yurr, gentlemen, and I’ll join you tomorrow in fust drink to show there’s no hanky-panky.”

“We’ll be delighted if you’ll join us, Mr. Pomeroy, but I don’t think we need feel any qualms.”

“Ax George Nark,” said Abel bitterly. “Have a tell with George Nark, and get your minds pisened. I’ll look after your stomachs.”

Alleyn said hurriedly: “And that’s the first-aid equipment?”

“That’s it, sir. Bottle of iodine was laying in empty slot, yurr,” Abel explained. “I tuk it out and I tuk out bandage at same time.”

“You should keep your first-aid box shut up, Mr. Pomeroy,” said Alleyn, absently.

“Door’s air-tight, sir.”

Alleyn shone his torch into the cupboard. The triangular shelf, forming the roof of the lower cupboard and the floor of the top one, was made of a single piece of wood, and fitted closely.

“And the bottle of prussic acid solution was in the upper cupboard?” asked Alleyn.

“ ’Ess, tight-corked. Nick Harper’s taken—”

“Yes, I know. Was the upper door locked?”

“Key turned in lock, same as it be now.”

“You said at the inquest that you had used the iodine earlier in the evening.”

“So I had, then. Bob Legge had cut hisself with his razor. He said he wurr shaving hisself along of going to Illington. When storm came up — it wurr a terror— that thurr storm — us told Legge he’d better bide home-along. I reckon that’s the only thing I’ve got to blame myself for. Howsumdever the man came in for his pint at five o’clock, and I give him a lick of iodine and some sticking plaster.”

“Are you certain, Mr. Pomeroy? It’s important.”

“Bible oath,” said Abel. “Thurr y’are, sir. Bible oath. Ax the man hisself. I fetched out my first-aid box and give him the bottle. Ax him.”

“Yes, yes. And you’re certain it was at five o’clock?”

“Bob Legge,” said Abel, “has been into tap for his pint
at
five o’clock every day, ’cepting Sunday, fur last ten months. Us opens at five in these parts, and when I give him the iodine I glanced at clock and opened up.”

“When you put the bottle in the top cupboard on the Thursday night you wore gloves. Did you take them off before you turned the key?”

“ ’Ess fay, and pitched ’em on fire. Nick Harper come down off of his high horse furr enough to let on my finger marks is on key. Don’t that prove it?”

“It does, indeed,” said Alleyn.

Fox, who had been completely silent, now uttered a low growl.

“Yes, Fox?” asked Alleyn.

“Nothing, Mr. Alleyn.”

“Well,” said Alleyn, “we’ve almost done. We now come to the brandy Miss Moore poured out of the Courvoisier bottle into Watchman’s empty glass. Who suggested he should have brandy?”

“I’m not certain-sure, sir. I b’lieve Mr. Parish first, and then Miss Darragh, but I wouldn’t swear to her.”

“Would you swear that nobody had been near Mr. Watchman’s glass between the time he took his second nip and the time Miss Moore gave him the brandy?”

“Not Legge,” said Abel, thoughtfully. And then with that shade of reluctance with which he coloured any suggestion of Legge’s innocence: “Legge wurr out in middle o’ floor afore dart board. Mr. Watchman stood atween him and table wurr t’glass stood. Mr. Parish walked over to look at Mr. Watchman spreading out his fingers. All t’others stood hereabouts, behind Legge. No one else went anigh t’glass.”

“And after the accident? Where was everybody then?”

“Crowded round Mr. Watchman. Will stepped out of corner. I come through under counter. Miss Darragh stood anigh us, and Dessy by Will. Legge stood staring where he wurr. Reckon Mr. Parish did be closest still to glass, but he stepped forward when Mr. Watchman flopped down on settle. I be a bit mazed-like wurr they all stood. I disremember.”

“Naturally enough. Would you say anybody could have touched that glass between the moment when the dart struck and the time Miss Moore poured out the brandy?”

“I don’t reckon anybody could,” said Abel, but his voice slipped a half-tone and he looked profoundly uncomfortable.

“Not even Mr. Parish?”

Abel stared over Alleyn’s head and out of the window. His lower lip protruded and he looked as mulish as a sulky child.

“Maybe he could,” said Abel, “but he didn’t.”

i

“We may as well let him have this room,” said Alleyn, when Abel had gone. “Harper’s done everything possible in the way of routine.”

“He’s a very thorough chap, is Nick Harper.”

“Yes,” agreed Alleyn. “Except in the matter of the rat-hole jar. However, Fox, we’ll see if we can catch him out before we let the public in. Let’s prowl a bit.”

They prowled for an hour. They kept the door locked and closed the bar shutters. Dim sounds of toping penetrated from the public tap-room. Alleyn had brought Harper’s photographs and they compared these with the many chalk marks Harper had left behind him. A chalk mark under the settle showed where the iodine bottle had rolled. The plot of the bottle of Scheele’s acid was marked in the top cupboard. The shelves of the corner cupboard were very dusty, and the trace left by the bottle showed clearly. Alleyn turned to the fireplace.

“He hasn’t shifted the ashes, Br’er Fox. We may as well do that, I think.”

Fox fetched a small sieve from Alleyn’s case. The ashes at first yielded nothing of interest but in the last handful they found a small misshapen object which Alleyn dusted and took to the light.

“Glass,” he said. “They must have had a good fire. It’s melted and gone all bobbly. There’s some more. Broken glass, half-melted by the fire.”

“They probably make the fire up on the old ashes,” said Fox. “It may have lain there through two or three fires.”

“Yes, Fox. And then again, it may not. I wonder if those fragments of the brandy glass were complete. This has been a thickish piece, I should say.”

“A bit of the bottom?”

“We’ll have to find out. You never know. Where was the broken glass?”

The place where most of the broken glass had been found was marked on the floor.

“Oh careful Mr. Harper!” Alleyn sighed. “But it doesn’t get us much farther, I’m afraid. Fox, I’m like to get in a muddle over this. You must keep me straight. You know what an ass I can make of myself. No,” as Fox looked amiably sceptical. “No, I mean it. There are at least three likely pitfalls. I wish to heaven they hadn’t knocked over that glass and tramped it to smithereens.”

“D’you think there was cyanide in the glass, Mr. Alleyn?”

“God bless us, Fox, I don’t know. I don’t know, my dear old article. How can I? But it would help a lot if we
could
know one way or the other. Finding none on those tiny pieces isn’t good enough.”

“At least,” said Fox, “we know there was cyanide on the dart. And knowing that, sir, and ruling out accident, I must say I agree with old Pomeroy. It looks like Legge.”

“But how the devil could Legge put prussic acid on the dart with eight people all watching him? He was standing under the light, too.”

“He felt the points,” said Fox, without conviction.

“Get along with you, Foxkins. Prussic acid is extremely volatile. Could Legge dip his fingers in the acid and then wait a couple of hours or so — with every hope of giving himself a poisoned hand? He’d have needed a bottle of the stuff about him.”

“He may have had one. He may be a bit of a conjurer. Legerdemain,” added Fox.

“Well — he may. We’ll have to find out.”

Alleyn lit a cigarette and sat down.

“Let’s worry it out,” he said. “May I talk? And when I go wrong, Fox, you stop me.”

“It’s likely then,” said Fox, drily, “to be a monologue. But go ahead, sir, if you please.”

Alleyn went ahead. His pleasant voice ran on and on and a kind of orderliness began to appear. The impossible, the possible, and the probable were sorted into groups, and from the kaleidoscopic jumble of evidence was formed a pattern.

“Imperfect,” said Alleyn, “but at least suggestive.”

“Suggestive, all right,” Fox said. “And if it’s correct, the case, in a funny sort of way, still hinges on the dart.”

“Yes,” agreed Alleyn. “The bare bodkin. The feathered quarrel and all that. Well, Fox, we’ve wallowed in speculation and now we’d better get on with the job. I think I hear Pomeroy senior in the public bar, so presumably Pomeroy junior is at liberty. Let’s remove to the parlour.”

“Shall I get hold of young Pomeroy?”

“In a minute. Ask him to bring us a couple of pints. You’d better not suggest that he join us in a drink. He doesn’t like us much, and I imagine he’d refuse, which would not be the best possible beginning.”

Alleyn wandered into the inglenook, knocked out his pipe on the hearthstone, and then stooped down.

“Look here, Fox.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Look at this log-box.”

Fox bent himself at the waist and stared into a heavy wooden box in which Abel kept his pieces of driftwood and the newspaper used for kindling. Alleyn pulled out a piece of paper and took it to the light

“It’s been wet,” observed Fox.

“Very wet. Soaked. It was thrust down among the bits of wood. A little pool had lain in the pocket. Smell it.”

Fox sniffed, vigorously.

“Brandy?” he asked.

“Don’t know. Handle it carefully, Br’er Fox. Put it away in your room and then get Pomeroy junior.”

Alleyn returned to the parlour, turned on the red-shaded lamp and settled himself behind the table.

Fox came in, followed by Will Pomeroy. Will carried two pint pots of beer. He set them down on the table.

“Thank you,” said Alleyn. “Can you spare us a moment?”

“Yes.”

“Sit down, won’t you?”

Will hesitated awkwardly, and then chose the least comfortable chair and sat on the extreme edge. Fox took out his note-book and Will’s eyes flickered. Alleyn laid three keys on the table.

“We may return these now, I think,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to see the Plume of Feathers set right again.”

“Thanks,” said Will. He stretched out his hand and took the keys.

“The point we’d like to talk about,” said Alleyn, “is the possibility of the dart that injured Mr. Watchman being tainted with the stuff used for rat-poison — the acid was kept in the corner cupboard of the private tap. Now, your father—”

“I know what my father’s been telling you,” interrupted Will, “and I don’t hold with it. My father’s got a damn’ crazy notion in his head.”

“What notion is that?” asked Alleyn.

Will looked sharply at him, using that trick of lowering his eyelashes. He did not answer.

“Do you mean that your father’s ideas about Mr. Robert Legge are crazy?”

“That’s right. Father’s got his knife into Bob Legge because of his views. There’s no justice nor sense in what he says. I’ll swear, Bible oath, Bob Legge never interfered with the dart. I’ll swear it before any judge or jury in the country.”

“How can you be so positive?”

“I was watching the man. I was in the corner between the dart board and the bar. I was watching him.”

“All the time? From the moment the darts were unpacked until he threw them?”

“Yes,” said Will, doggedly. “All the time.”

“Why?”

“Eh?”

“Why did you watch him so closely?”

“Because of what the man was going to do. We all watched him.”

“Suppose,” said Alleyn, “that for the sake of argument I told you we knew positively that Mr. Legge, while he held the darts in his left hand, put his right hand in his pocket for a moment—”

“I’d say it was a lie. He didn’t. He never put his hand in his pocket.”

“What makes you so positive, Mr. Pomeroy?”

“For one thing he was in his shirt-sleeves.”

“What about his waistcoat and trousers pockets?”

“He hadn’t a waistcoat. His sleeves was rolled up and I was watching his hands. They never went near his trousers’ pockets. He held the darts in his left hand, and I was watching the way he felt the points, delicate-like, with the first finger of his other hand. He was saying they was right-down good darts, well made and well balanced.” Will leant forward and scowled earnestly at Alleyn.

“Look ’ee here, sir,” he said. “If Bob Legge meant any harm to they darts would he have talked about them so’s we all looked at the damn’ things? Would he, now?”

“That’s a very sound argument,” agreed Alleyn. “He would not.”

“Well, then!”

“Right. Now the next thing he did, was to throw all six darts, one after the other, into the board. He had six, hadn’t he?”

“Yes. There were six new ’uns in the packet. Usual game’s only three, but he took all six for this trick.”

“Exactly. Now, what did he do after he’d thrown them?”

“Said they carried beautiful. He’d thrown the lot round the centre, very pretty. Mr. Watchman pulled ’em out and looked at ’em. Then Mr. Watchman spread out his left hand on the board and held out the darts with his right. ‘Fire ahead,’ he says, or something like that”

Alleyn uttered a short exclamation and Will looked quickly at him.

“That wasn’t brought out at the inquest,” said Alleyn.

“Beg pardon? What wasn’t?”

“That Mr. Watchman pulled out the darts and gave them to Mr. Legge.”

“I know that, sir. I only thought of it to-day. I’d have told Mr. Harper next time I saw him.”

“It’s a little odd that you should not remember this until a fortnight after the event.”

“Is it, then?” demanded Will. “I don’t reckon it is. Us didn’t think anything at the time. Ask any of the others. Ask my father. They’ll remember, all right, when they think of it.”

“All right,” said Alleyn. “I suppose it’s natural enough you should forget.”

“I know what it means,” said Will quickly. “I know that, right enough. Mr. Watchman handled those darts, moving them round in his hands, like. How could Bob Legge know which was which, after that?”

“Not very easily one would suppose. What next?”

“Bob took the darts and stepped back. Then he began to blaze away with ’em. He never so much as glanced at ’em, I know that. He played ’em out quick.”

“Until the fourth one stuck into the finger?”

“Yes,” said Will doggedly, “till then.”

Alleyn was silent. Fox, note-book in hand, moved over to the window and stood looking over the roofs of Ottercombe at the sea.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” said Will suddenly.

“Yes?” asked Alleyn.

“I reckon the poison on those dart’s a blind.”

He made this announcement with an air of defiance, and seemed to expect it would bring some sort of protest from the other two. But Alleyn took it very blandly.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s possible, of course.”

“See what I mean?” said Will eagerly. “The murderer had worked it out he’d poison Mr. Watchman. He’d worked it out he’d put the stuff in his drink, first time he got a chance. Then, when Bob Legge pricks him by accident, the murderer says to himself: ‘There’s a rare chance.’ He’s got the stuff on him. He puts it in the brandy glass and afterwards, while we’re all fussing round Mr. Watchman, he smears it on the dart. The brandy glass gets smashed to pieces but they find poison on the dart. That’s how I work it out. I reckon whoever did this job tried, deliberate, to fix it on Bob Legge.”

Alleyn looked steadily at him.

“Can you give us anything to support this theory?”

Will hesitated. He looked from Alleyn to Fox, made as if to speak, and then seemed to change his mind.

“You understand, don’t you,” said Alleyn, “that I am not trying to force information. On the other hand, if you do know of anything that would give colour to the theory you have yourself advanced, it would be advisable to tell us about it.”

“I know Bob Legge didn’t interfere with the dart.”

“After it was all over, and the constable looked for the dart, wasn’t it Legge who found it?”

“Sure-ly! And that goes to show. Wouldn’t he have taken his chance to wipe the dart if he’d put poison in it?”

“That’s well reasoned,” said Alleyn. “I think he would. But your theory involves the glass. Who had an opportunity to put prussic acid in the glass?”

Will’s fair skin reddened up to the roots of his fox-coloured hair.

“I’ve no wish to accuse anybody,” he said. “I know who’s innocent and I speak up for him. There won’t be many who’ll do that. His politics are not the colour to make powerful friends for him when he’s in trouble. I know Bob Legge’s innocent, but I say nothing about the guilty.”

“Now, look here,” said Alleyn, amiably, “you’ve thought this thing out for yourself and you seem to have thought it out pretty thoroughly. You must see that we can’t put a full-stop after your pronouncement on the innocence of Mr. Legge. The best way of establishing Legge’s innocence is to find where the guilt lies.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir,” said Will. “Really.”

“I see. Well, can you tell us if Mr. Legge stood anywhere near the brandy glass, before he threw the darts?”

“He was nowhere near it. Not ever. It was on the table by the board. He never went near it.”

“Do you remember who stood near the table?”

Will was silent. He compressed his lips into a hard line.

“For instance,” Alleyn pursued, “was Mr. Sebastian Parish anywhere near the table?”

“He might have been,” said Will.

ii

“And now, Fox,” said Alleyn, “we’ll have a word with Mr. Sebastian Parish, if he’s on the premises. I don’t somehow think he’ll have strayed very far. See if you can find him.”

Fox went away. Alleyn took a long pull at his beer and read through the notes Fox had made during the interview with Will Pomeroy. The light outside had faded and the village had settled down for the evening. Alleyn could hear the hollow sounds made by men working with boats; the tramp of heavy boots on stone, a tranquil murmur of voices, and, more distantly, the thud of breakers. Within the house, he heard sounds of sweeping and of quick footsteps. The Pomeroys had lost no time cleaning up the private bar. In the public bar, across the passage, a single voice seemed to drone on and on as if somebody made a speech to the assembled topers. Whoever it was came to an end. A burst of conversation followed and then a sudden silence. Alleyn recognized Fox’s voice. Someone answered, clearly and resonantly: “Yes, certainly.”

“That’s Parish,” thought Alleyn.