A Wreath for Rivera

Leaving them no time to digest this theory, Alleyn continued with the business of checking Lord Pastern’s time-table. Spence, still very anxious, said that having discovered the letter on the hall table he had come upstairs and taken it into the drawing-room, where he found only his mistress, Miss Wayne, and Mr. Manx, who, he thought, had not long arrived there from the dining-room. On returning to the landing Spence encountered Miss de Suze, coming out of the study, and gave her the letter. Sounds of the sombrero hunt reached him from upstairs. He was about to join it when a cry of triumph from Lord Pastern reassured him, and he returned to the servants’ quarters. He had noticed the time: 9:45.

“And at that time,” Alleyn said, “Lady Pastern and Miss Wayne are about to leave Mr. Manx alone in the drawing-room and go upstairs. Miss de Suze and Miss Henderson are already in their rooms and Lord Pastern is about to descend, wearing his sombrero. Mr. Bellairs and Mr. Rivera are in the ballroom. We have forty-five minutes to go before the party leaves for the Metronome. What happens next?”

But he had struck a blank. Apart from Hortense’s previous account of her visits to the ladies upstairs there was little to be learned from the servants. They had kept to their own quarters until, a few minutes before the departure for the Metronome, Spence and William had gone into the hall, assisted the gentlemen into their overcoats, given them their hats and gloves and seen them into their cars.

“Who,” Alleyn asked, “helped Mr. Rivera into his coat?”

William had done this.

“Did you notice anything about him? Anything at all out of the ordinary, however slight?”

William said sharply: “The gentleman had a — well, a funny ear, sir. Red and bleeding a bit. A cauliflower ear, as you might say.”

“Had you noticed this earlier in the evening? When you leant over his chair, serving him, at dinner, for instance?”

“No, sir. It was all right then, sir.”

“Sure?”

“Swear to it,” said William crisply.

“You think carefully, Will, before you make statements,” Spence said uneasily.

“I know I’m right, Mr. Spence.”

“How do you imagine he came by this injury?” Alleyn asked. William grinned, pure Cockney. “Well, sir, if you’ll excuse the expression, I’d say somebody had handed the gentleman a fourpenny one.”

“Who, at a guess?”

William rejoined promptly: “Seeing he was holding his right hand, tender-like, in his left and seeing the way the murdered gentleman looked at him so fierce, I’d say it was Mr. Edward Manx, sir.”

Hortense broke into a spate of excited and gratified comment. Monsieur Dupont made a wide, conclusive gesture and exclaimed: “Perfectly! It explains itself!” Mary and Myrtle ejaculated incoherently while Spence and Miss Parker, on a single impulse, rose and shouted awfully: “That WILL DO, William.”

Alleyn and Fox left them, still greatly excited, and retraced their steps to the downstairs hall.

“What have we got out of that little party,” Alleyn grunted, “beyond confirmation of old Pastern’s time-table up to half an hour before they all left the house?”

“Damn all, sir. And what does that teach us?” Fox grumbled. “Only that every man Jack of them was alone at some time or other and might have got hold of the parasol handle, taken it to the study, fixed this silly little stiletto affair in the end with plastic wood and then done Gawd-knows-what. Every man Jack of ’em.”

“And every woman Jill?”

“I suppose so. Wait a bit, though.”

Alleyn gave him the time-table and his own notes. They had moved into the entrance lobby, closing the inner glass doors behind them. “Mull it over in the car,” Alleyn said, “I think there’s a bit more to be got out of it, Fox. Come on.”

But as Alleyn was about to open the front door Fox gave a sort of grunt and he turned back to see Félicité de Suze on the stairs. She was dressed for the day and in the dim light of the hall looked pale and exhausted. For a moment they stared at each other through the glass panel and then tentatively, uncertainly, she made an incomplete gesture with one hand. Alleyn swore under his breath and re-entered the hall.

“Do you want to speak to me?” he said. “You’re up very early.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” he said formally.

“I think I do want to speak to you.”

Alleyn nodded to Fox, who re-entered the hall.

“Alone,” said Félicité.

“Inspector Fox is acting with me in this case.”

She glanced discontentedly at Fox. “All the same…” she said, and then as Alleyn made no answer: “Oh, well!”

She was on the third step from the foot of the stairs, standing there boldly, aware of the picture she made. “Lisle told me,” she said, “about you and the letter. Getting it from her, I mean. I suppose you take rather a dim view of my sending Lisle to do my dirty work, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”