They had halted beside the cars. “Such as what?” asked Simon.
“Such as: What was it doing there in the first place?”
“That’s it! That’s it exactly! The way it looks,” sighed Hewitt, sliding into the driving seat, “no one ever told Mrs. Treverra that you can’t take it with you.”
CHAPTER IX
SUNDAY AFTERNOON
« ^ »
DOMINIC CAME DOWN to lunch in his best suit, and with a demure gait to match, threaded his way between the tables in the bar, and slid on to the stool next to his mother’s, in the approved casual manner.
“Dry Martini, please, Sam.”
“Darling, you have come on!” said Bunty admiringly. “You even sound as if you expect to get it.”
“Careful, now!” cautioned Sam, with a face so straight that apart from the moustache it was practically featureless. “That vermouth’s powerful stuff.” He spared a moment, in spite of the noon rush of business after church, to admire his young guest’s grave Sabbath appearance. “I hear you’ve got old Hewitt coming to lunch.”
Dominic centred the knot of his tie more severely. “This won’t stay on past two o’clock, if it lasts that long. But it’s the least I could do. After all, Dad did put on a collar and tie for me, the night we got to know Simon and the Rossalls. Not unprompted,” he added, looking down his nose into his glass.
“Look who’s talking!” said Bunty. “Twelve minutes ago he looked like something a water spaniel had dragged in off the beach. If anyone gets the credit for his present appearance, it should be me.”
“Well, congratulations, Mrs. Felse,” said Sam reverently, “it’s very, very beautiful.”
Dominic began to get down from his stool with great dignity, but not so purposefully as to suggest that he had any real intention of leaving. “Look, I’ll go away if I’m cramping your style at all.”
“Leave the glass,” said Bunty accommodatingly, “I’ll take care of it.”
“You touch it!” He took care of it jealously himself, spreading both elbows more comfortably. Through the windows that overlooked the terrace, half-empty today because the wind was in the wrong quarter and the sunny air deceptively cool, they saw George and Hewitt approaching in earnest conversation.
“They’re here. Good, I’m hungry. And, Sam, talking of powerful stuff, don’t you think you could find us a drop of the real McCoy to go with the coffee? The special, for Mr. Hewitt. I think you really should offer it with the compliments of the house.”
“I might, at that,” said Sam, grinning.
“And serve it yourself. Just to show your conscience is clear.”
“My conscience is always clear. I’ve got it properly trained.”
“I bet you you daren’t,” said Dominic, glittering with mischief.
“You bet me what I daren’t?”
“The price of the brandy.”
“Plus duty?”
“Oh, have a heart!” protested Dominic, injured.
Bunty slid from her stool and shook out the peacock blue skirt that made her chestnut hair take fire in opposition. “I hate to admit an impediment to this marriage of true minds, but I’m not really sure that this is the right time to tease Detective-Sergeant Hewitt. Are you both sure of your alibis? He might have a warrant in his pocket right now.”
George and Hewitt were already entering the doorway. Sam watched them approach, his face benign and childlike. Apart, of course, from the whiskers. Those whiskers, Dominic reflected, must be worth a fortune to him.
“Don’t you worry,” he said, momentarily serious, “the old boy knows all about my alibi long ago. He may look stolid, it’s his stock-in-trade, but there isn’t much he misses. I’m checked up on and passed harmless, that’s for sure, or we should have seen more of him around.”
“Well, hang it,” said Dominic, “I was one of the blokes trying to pull the victim out of the sea. Everybody knows where I was.”
“That could be very good cover for anyone who’d just thrown him in,” pointed out Bunty darkly, and took her son firmly by the elbow. “Come on, we have a guest. Put your company face on.”
“It is on,” he said indignantly.
“It’s crooked, then. Straighten it.”
Sam appeared at Bunty’s shoulder with the coffee, beaming and benign, and distributed the delicate, tall-stemmed balloons he kept for special occasions.
“With the compliments of the house, Mr. Felse,” he said ceremoniously, catching George’s inquiring eye, and began to pour the brandy with reverence.
“That’s very handsome of you, Sam,” George acknowledged civilly. He looked at Bunty, and her face was limpid and innocent. He looked at Dominic, and his was pleased and bland.
“Not at all,” deprecated Sam, rubbing thumb and forefinger together gleefully at Dominic from behind Hewitt’s back. Dominic remained seraphic, flattered and serene, just artful enough to retain a pinch of the schoolboy in his impersonation of the man-of- the-world. It didn’t fool George. But good brandy is good brandy.
“What is it, Sam, a drop of special?”
“My own favourite,” said Sam fondly and truthfully, and judiciously withdrew the bottle, leaving only a very modest dose in Dominic’s glass. That should have shaken the practised calm, if anything could, but Dominic merely flicked one glance at Sam, unreadable to the others, and contained his displeasure to loose it at a more opportune time. His small, delighted smile never wavered for an instant. “Give me your opinion, Mr. Hewitt, I know you’re a good judge.”
Hewitt caressed and warmed the glass in his large palms, and let his nose enjoy itself. “Lovely bouquet, Sam! Not a trace of that overtone of brass you sometimes get.”
“That’s just what I like about it,” said Sam, feelingly. “I’m glad to have my judgment confirmed by an expert. You don’t mind if I quote you, Mr. Hewitt? Try the flavour, you won’t be disappointed.”
Hewitt tried it, and was not disappointed. One heavy eyelid lifted from the happy contemplation of his glass, one round, bright eye examined Sam minutely, shifted from him to Dominic, and lingered thoughtfully. Dominic retired coyly into his glass, but slanted one glance across it, so quickly that it should have slid harmlessly by. Hewitt winked. Dominic looked down his nose and appeared to have noticed nothing unorthodox. Honours were approximately even.
“That’s lovely stuff, Sam. You go on buying it as long as it’s on offer, that’s all the advice I can give you.”
“I will, Mr. Hewitt, glad to know it has your approval.”
It was a pity that Mrs. Shubrough should have to loom up at that moment from the direction of the bar, and strike the one discordant note: “Telephone for you, Mr. Hewitt. It’s Mr. Rackham calling from the police station. He says it’s very important.”
The little bubble of comedy burst damply round them. They watched the stocky figure shoulder its way out through the glass doors, and they were back with an unsolved double murder.
“I feel cheap,” announced Dominic, after a moment of self-examination.
“Don’t be self-important,” said George witheringly. “You don’t think fate’s got time to cast a disapproving eye on your little capers, do you? Besides, you don’t feel cheap at all, you only feel you ought to. Now if you want to make yourself useful, take your mother out for the afternoon, because I suspect I shall be out of circulation. And kick up your heels all you want—there won’t be any nemesis listening to you. Nemesis has got more important things to do.”
“I’ve had two men out since Friday,” said Hewitt, slowing at the beginning of the steep drop into the town, “looking for the dentist who put in all that work on our unidentified corpse’s teeth. Rackham’s found him. At least, it seems likely it’s the right fellow, but he’s a cautious one, won’t say for sure from the charts. Wants to see the molars before he commits himself, but is sure he’ll know his own work again if it is the bloke he thinks.”