A Wreath for Rivera

“You say that because we’ve been talking about the stiletto. It’s not a bit like it really. Look again.”

She leant over it. “Why,” she said, “it’s a — a pencil.”

“Do you know whose pencil?”

She hesitated. “I think it’s Hendy’s. She wears it on a chain like an old-fashioned charm. She always wears it. She was hunting for it on the landing this morning.”

“This is it. Here are her initials. P.X.H. Very tiny. You almost need a magnifying glass. Like the initials you saw on the revolver. The ring at the end was probably softish silver and the gap in it may have opened with the weight of the pencil. I found the pencil in the work-box. Does Miss Henderson ever use Lady Pastern’s work-box?”

This at least was plain sailing. “Yes. She tidies it very often for Aunt Cile.” And immediately Carlisle thought: “I’m no good at this. Here it comes again.”

“Was she tidying the box last night? After dinner?”

“Yes,” Carlisle said flatly. “Oh, yes. Yes.”

“Did you notice, particularly? When exactly was it?”

“Before the men came in. Well, only Ned came in actually. Uncle George and the other two were in the ballroom.”

“Lord Pastern and Bellairs were at this time in the ballroom, and Rivera and Manx in the dining-room. According to the time-table.” He opened a file on his desk.

“I only know that Fée had gone when Ned came in.”

“She had joined Rivera in the study by then. But to return to this incident in the drawing-room. Can you describe the scene with the work-box? What were you talking about?”

Félicité had been defending Rivera. She had been on edge, in one of her moods. Carlisle had thought: “She’s had Rivera but she won’t own up.” And Hendy, listening, had moved her fingers about inside the work-box. There was the stiletto in Hendy’s fingers and, dangling from her neck, the pencil on its chain.

“They were talking about Rivera. Félicité considered he’d been snubbed a bit and was cross about it.”

“At about this time Lord Pastern must have fired off his gun in the ballroom,” Alleyn muttered. He had spread the time-table out on his desk. He glanced up at her. His glance, she noticed, was never vague or indirect, as other people’s might be. It had the effect of immediately collecting your attention. “Do you remember that?” he said.

“Oh, yes.”

“It must have startled you, surely?”

What were her hands doing now? She was holding the side of her neck again.

“How did you all react to what must have been an infernal racket? What for instance did Miss Henderson do? Do you remember?”

Her lips parted dryly. She closed them again, pressing them together.

“I think you do remember,” he said. “What did she do?”

Carlisle said loudly, “She let the lid of the box drop. Perhaps the pencil was caught and pulled off the chain.”

“Was anything in her hands?”

“The stiletto,” she said, feeling the words grind out.

“Good. And then?”

“She dropped it.”

Perhaps that would satisfy him. It fell to the carpet. Anyone might have picked it up. Anyone, she thought desperately. Perhaps he will think a servant might have picked it up. Or even Breezy Bellairs, much later.

“Did Miss Henderson pick it up?”

“No.”

“Did anyone?”

She said nothing.

“You? Lady Pastern? No. Miss de Suze?”

She said nothing.

“And a little while afterwards, a very little while, she went out of the room. Because it was immediately after the report that William saw her go into the study with Rivera. He noticed that she had something shiny in her hand.”

“She didn’t even know she had it. She picked it up automatically. I expect she just put it down in the study and forgot all about it.”

“We found the ivory handle there,” Alleyn said, and Fox made a slight gratified sound in his throat.

“But you mustn’t think there was any significance in all this.”

“We’re glad to know how and when the stiletto got into the study, at least.”

“Yes,” she said, “I suppose so. Yes.”

Someone tapped on the door. The bare-headed constable came in with a package and an envelope. He laid them on the desk. “From Captain Entwhistle, sir. You asked to have them as soon as they came in.”

He went out without looking at Carlisle.

“Oh, yes,” Alleyn said. “The report on the revolver, Fox. Good. Miss Wayne, before you go, I’ll ask you to have a look at the revolver. It’ll be one more identification check.”

She waited while Inspector Fox came out from behind his desk and unwrapped the parcel. It contained two separate packages. She knew the smaller one must be the dart and wondered if Rivera’s blood was still encrusted on the stiletto. Fox opened the larger package and came to her with the revolver.

“Will you look at it?” Alleyn said. “You may handle it. I would like your formal identification.”

Carlisle turned the heavy revolver in her hands. There was a strong light in the room. She bent her head and they waited. She looked up, bewildered. Alleyn gave her his pocket lens. There was a long silence.

“Well, Miss Wayne?”

“But… But it’s extraordinary. I can’t identify it. There are no initials. This isn’t the same revolver.”