Death in a White Tie (24 page)

“Look here,” said Alleyn, “this doesn’t seem a particularly well-chosen spot for the kind of conversation that’s indicated.”

“I know,” said Bridget. “If Donna or Bart ever finds out I’ve been here there’ll be a row of absolutely horrific proportions. The Matador! Unchaperoned! With Donald! But we were desperate — we
had
to see each other. Bart has driven me stark ravers, he’s been so awful. I managed to ring Donald up from an outside telephone and we arranged to meet here. Donald’s a member. We’ve talked it all over and we were coming to see you.”

“Suppose you do so now. The manager here knows I’m a policeman so we’d better not leave together. Here’s my address. Come along in about fifteen minutes. That do?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Bridget, “won’t it, Donald?”

“All right, all right,” said Donald. “It’s your idea, darling. If it lands me in—”

“It won’t land you anywhere but in my flat,” said Alleyn. “You’ve both come to a very sensible decision.”

He rose and looked down at them. “Good Lord,” he thought, “they
are
young.” He said: “Don’t weaken.
Au revoir
,” and walked out of the Matador.

On the way to his flat he wondered if the loss of the best part of another night’s sleep was going to get him any nearer a solution.

Alleyn walked restlessly about his sitting-room. He had sent Vassily, his old servant, off to bed. The flat, at the end of a cul-de-sac behind Coventry Street, was very silent. He was fond of this room. It had a contradictory air of monastic comfort that was, if he had realized it, a direct expression of himself. Dürer’s praying hands were raised above his mantelpiece. At the other end of the room Troy’s painting of the wharf at Suva uttered, in sharp cool colours, a simple phrase of beauty. He had bought this picture secretly from one of her exhibitions and Troy did not know that it hung there in his room. Three comfortable elderly chairs from his mother’s house at Bossicote, his father’s desk and, waist-high all round the walls, a company of friendly books. But this June night his room seemed chilly. He put a match to the wood fire and drew three armchairs into the circle of its radiance. Time those two arrived. A taxi came up the cul-de-sac and stopped. The door banged. He heard Bridget’s voice and went to let them in.

He was reminded vividly of two small children entering a dentist’s waiting-room. Donald was the victim, Bridget the not very confident escort. Alleyn tried to dispel this atmosphere, settled them in front of the fire, produced ciagrettes, and remembering they were grown-up offered them drinks. Bridget refused. Donald with an air of grandeur accepted a whisky and soda.

“Now then,” said Alleyn, “What’s it all about?” He felt he ought to add: “Open wide!” and as he handed Donald his drink: “Rinse, please.”

“It’s about Donald,” said Bridget in a high determined voice. “He’s promised to let me tell you. He doesn’t like it but I say I won’t marry him unless he does, so he’s going to. And besides, he really thinks he ought to do it.”

“It’s a damn fool thing to do,” said Donald. “There’s no reason actually why I should come into it at all. I’ve made up my mind but all the same I don’t see—”

“All the same, you are in it, darling, so it doesn’t much matter if you see why or not, as the case may be.”

“All right. That’s settled anyway, isn’t it? We needn’t go on arguing. Let’s tell Mr Alleyn and get it over.”

“Yes, Let’s. Shall I?”

“If you like.”

Bridget turned to Alleyn.

“When we met tonight,” she began, “I asked Donald about Captain Withers, because the way you talked about him this afternoon made me think perhaps he’s not a good idea. I made Donald tell me
exactly
what he knows about Wits.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Well, Wits is a crook. Isn’t he Donald?”

“I suppose so.”

“He’s a crook because he runs a gambling hell at Leatherhead. Don says you know that or anyway you suspect it. Well, he does. And Donald said he’d go in with him only he didn’t know then how crooked Wits was. And then Donald lost money to Wits and couldn’t pay him back and Wits said he’d better stand in with him because he’d make it pretty hot for Donald if he didn’t. What with Bunchy and everything.”

“But Bunchy paid your debts to Withers,” said Alleyn.

“Not all,” said Donald with a scarlet face but a look of desperate determination (“First extraction,” thought Alleyn.) ”I didn’t tell him about all of it.”

“I see.”

“So Donald said he’d go in with Wits. And then when he quarrelled with Bunchy and went to live with Wits he found out that Wits was worse of a crook than ever. Don found out that Wits was getting money from a woman. Do I have to tell you who she was?”

“Was it Mrs Halcut-Hackett?”

“Yes.”

“Was it much?” Alleyn asked Donald.

“Yes, sir,” said Donald. “I don’t know how much. But she — he told me she had an interest in the Leatherhead club. I thought at first it was all right. Really I did. It’s hard to explain. I just got sort of used to the way Wits talked. Everything is a ramp nowadays — a racket — that’s what Wits said and I began rather to think the same way. I suppose I lost my eye. Bridget says I did.”

“I expect she’s right, isn’t she?”

“I suppose so. But — I don’t know. It was all rather fun in a way until — well, until today.”

“You mean since Bunchy was murdered?”

“Yes. I do. But — you see—”

“Let me,” said Bridget. “You see, Mr Alleyn, Donald got rather desperate. Wits rang up and told him to keep away. That was this morning.”

“I know. It was at my instigation,” said Alleyn. “I was there.”

“Oh,” said Donald.

“Well, anyway,” said Bridget, “Donald got a bit of a shock. What with your questions and Wits always rubbing it in that Donald was going to be quite well off when his uncle died.”

“Did Captain Withers make a lot of that?”

Bridget took Donald’s hand.

“Yes,” she said, “he did. Didn’t he, Donald?”

“Anyone would think, Bridget, that you wanted to hang one of us, Wits or me,” said Donald and raised her hand to his cheek.

Bridget said: “I’m going to tell
everything
. You’re innocent, and if you’re innocent you’re safe. My mother would say that. You say it, don’t you, Mr Alleyn?”

“Yes,” said Alleyn.

“Well, this afternoon,” Bridget went on, “Donald’s things came back from Wits’ flat. His clothes and his books. When he unpacked them he saw one book was missing.”

“The first volume of Taylor’s
Medical Jurisprudence
?”

Donald wetted his lips and nodded.

“That upset Donald awfully,” Bridget continued, growing rather white in the face, “because of one chapter in the book. After they read the papers this morning Donald and Wits had an argument about how long it took to — to—”

“Oh God!” said Donald suddenly.

“To asphyxiate anybody?” asked Alleyn.

“Yes. And Donald looked it up in this book.”

“Did Captain Withers handle the book?”

Donald looked quickly at Bridget and said: “Yes, he did. He read a bit of it and then lost interest. He thought it would have taken longer, he said. ”

“Donald was puzzled about the book not arriving, and about Wits telling him not to come to the flat,” said Bridget. “He thought about it all the afternoon, and the more he thought the less he liked it. So he rang up. Wits answered but when he heard Donald’s voice he simply cut him off without another word. Didn’t he, darling?”

“Yes,” said Donald. “I rang again and he didn’t answer. I–I couldn’t think clearly at all. I felt stone cold in the pit of my stomach. It was simply ghastly to find myself cut dead like that.
Why
shouldn’t he answer me,
why
? Why hadn’t he sent the book? Only this morning we’d been together in his flat, perfectly friendly. Until the news came — after that I didn’t listen to anything Wits said. As soon as I knew Uncle Bunch had been murdered I couldn’t think of anything else. I wasn’t dressed when the papers came. Mother had known for hours but, the telephone being disconnected then, she couldn’t get hold of me. I hadn’t told her my address. Wits kept talking. I didn’t listen. And then, when I did get home, you were there, getting at me, getting at me. And then my mother crying, and the flowers, and everything. And on top of it all this business of Wits not wanting to speak to me. I couldn’t think. I just
had
to see Bridget.”

“Yes,” said Bridget, “he had to see me. But you’re muddling things, Donald. We ought to keep them in their right order. Mr Alleyn, we’ve got as far as this afternoon. Well, Donald got so rattled about the telephone and the missing book that in spite of what Wits had said, he felt he
had
to see him. So after dinner he took a taxi to Wits’s flat and he could see a light under the blind, so he knew Wits was in. Donald still had his own latch-key so he went straight in and up to the flat. Now you go on, Donald.”

Donald finished his whisky and soda and with unsteady fingers lit a fresh cigarette. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you. When I walked into the sitting-room he was lying on the divan bed. I stood in the middle of the room looking at him. He didn’t move, and he didn’t speak at all loudly. He called me a foul name and told me to get out. I said I wanted to know why he’d behaved as he did. He just lay there and looked at me. I said something about you, sir — I don’t know what — and in a split second he was on his feet. I thought he was going to start a fight. He asked me what the bloody hell I’d said to you about him. I said I’d avoided speaking about him as much as possible. But he began to ask all sorts of questions. God, he did look ugly. You often read about the veins swelling with rage in people’s faces. They did in his. He sat on the edge of the table swinging one foot and his face got sort of dark.”

“Yes,” said Alleyn. “I can see Captain Withers. Go on.”

“He said—” Donald caught his breath. Alleyn saw his fingers tighten round Bridget’s. “He said that unless I kept my head and held my tongue he’d begin to talk himself. He said that after all I had quarrelled with Uncle Bunch and I had been in debt and I was Uncle Bunch’s heir. He said if he was in this thing up to his knees I was in it up to my neck. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and pointed his flat finger at my neck. Then he told me to remember, if I didn’t want to commit suicide, that when he left Marsdon House he went to his car and drove to the Matador. I was to say that I’d seen him drive off with his partner.”

“Did you see this?”

“No. I left after him. I did think I saw him walking ahead of me towards his car. It was parked in Belgrave Road.”

“Why, do you suppose, did Withers take this extraordinary attitude when you saw him tonight?”

“He thought I’d given him away to you. He told me so.”

“About Leatherhead?”

“Yes. You said something about — about—”

“Fleecing lambs,” said Bridget.

“Yes. So I did,” admitted Alleyn cheerfully.

“He thought I’d lost my nerve and talked too much.”

“And now you are prepared to talk?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We’ve told you—” Bridget began.

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me that you persuaded Donald to come to me because you thought it better for him to explain his association with Withers. But I rather think there’s something more behind it than that. Would I be wrong, Donald, if I said that you were at least encouraged to take this decision by the fear that Withers himself might get in first and suggest that you had killed your uncle?”

Bridget cried out: “No!
No
! How can you be so cruel? How can you think that of Donald! Donald!”

But Donald looked steadily at Alleyn and when he spoke again it was gravely and with a certain dignity that became him very well.

He said: “Don’t, Bridget. It’s perfectly natural Mr Alleyn should think that I’m afraid of Wits accusing me. I
am
afraid of it. I didn’t kill Uncle Bunch. I think I was fonder of him than anyone else in the world except you, Bridgie. But I had quarrelled with him. I wish to God I hadn’t. I didn’t kill him. The reason I’m quite ready now to answer any questions about Wits, even if it means implicating myself — ’ He stopped and took a deep breath.

“Yes?” asked Alleyn.

“ — is that after seeing Wits this evening I believe he murdered my uncle.”

There was a long silence.

“Motive?” asked Alleyn at last.

“He thought he had a big enough hold over me to get control of the money.”

“Proof?”

“I’ve none. Only the way he spoke tonight. He’s afraid I believe he’d murder anyone if he’d enough incentive.”

“That’s not proof, nor anything like it.”

“No. It seemed good enough,” said Donald, “to bring me here when I might have kept quiet.”

The telephone rang. Alleyn went over to the desk and answered it.

“Hullo?”

“Roderick, is that you?”

“Yes. Who is it, please?”

“Evelyn Carrados.”

Alleyn looked across to the fireplace. He saw Bridget bend forward swiftly and kiss Donald.

“Hullo!” he said. “Anything the matter?”

“Roderick, I’m so worried. I don’t know what to do. Bridgie has gone out without saying a word to anyone. I’ve rung up as many people as I dared and I haven’t an inkling where she is. I’m so terrified she’s done something wild and foolish. I thought she might be with Donald Potter and I wondered if you could tell me his telephone number. Thank Heaven Herbert is out at a regimental dinner, at Tunbridge. I’m distraught with anxiety.”

“It’s all right, Evelyn,” said Alleyn. “Bridget’s here with me.”

“
With you
?”

“Yes. She wanted to talk to me. She’s quite all right. I’ll bring her back—”

“Is Donald Potter there?”

“Yes.”

“
But why
? What have they
done
it for? Roderick, I want to see you. I’ll come and get Bridget, may I?”

“Yes, do,” said Alleyn and gave her his address.

He hung up the receiver and turned to find Bridget and Donald looking very startled.

“
Donna
!” whispered Bridget. “Oh, golly!”

“Had I better go?” asked Donald.

“I think perhaps you’d better,” said Alleyn.

“If Bridgie’s going to be hauled over the coals I’d rather stay.”

“No, darling,” said Bridget, “it will be better not, honestly. As long as Bart doesn’t find out I’ll be all right.”

“Your mother won’t be here for ten minutes,” said Alleyn. “Look here, Donald, I want a full account of this gambling business at Leatherhead. If I put you in another room will you write one for me? It will save us a great deal of time and trouble. It must be as clear as possible with no trimmings and as many dates as you can conjure up. It will, I hope, lead to Captain Withers’s conviction.”

Donald looked uncomfortable.

“It seems rather a ghastly sort of thing to do. I mean—”

“Good heavens, you have just told me you think the man’s a murderer and you apparently know he’s a blackguard. He’s used you as a cat’s-paw and I understand his idea has been to swindle you out of your money!”

“All right,” said Donald. “I’ll do it.”

Alleyn took him into the dining-room and settled him there with pen and paper.

“I’ll come in later on and see what sort of fist you’ve made of it. There will have to be witnesses to your signature.”

“Shall I be had up as an accomplice?”