“The English waiter in the pavilion will have it that the man attacked him.”
The Boomer lowered his eyelids. “How very rococo,” he said, and there was no need for him to add “as we used to say at Davidson’s.” It had been a catch phrase in their last term and worn to death in the usage. With startling precision it again returned Alleyn to that dark room smelling of anchovy toast and a coal fire, and to the group mannerisms of his and the Boomer’s circle so many years ago.
When the man appeared he cut an unimpressive figure, being attired in white trousers, a singlet and a wrongly buttoned tunic. He appeared to be in a state of perturbation and in deep awe of his President.
“I will speak to him,” the Boomer announced.
He did so, and judging by the tone of his voice, pretty sharply. The man, fixing his white-eyeballed gaze on the far wall of the library, answered with, or so it seemed to Alleyn, the clockwork precision of a soldier on parade.
“He says no,” said the Boomer.
“Could you press a little?”
“It will make no difference. But I will press.”
This time the reply was lengthier. “He says he ran into someone in the dark and stumbled and for a moment clung to this person. It is ridiculous, he says, to speak of it as an attack. He had forgotten the incident. Perhaps it was this servant.”
“Where did he go after this encounter?”
Out of the pavilion, it appeared, finding himself near the rear door and frightened by the general rumpus. He had been rounded up by security men and drafted with the rest of the household staff to one end of the ballroom.
“Do you believe him?”
“He would not dare to lie,” said the Boomer calmly.
“In that case I suppose we let him go back to bed, don’t we?”
This move having been effected, the Boomer rose and so, of course, did Alleyn, Mr. Whipplestone and Fox.
“My dear Rory,” said the Boomer, “there is a matter which should be settled at once. The body. It will be returned to our country and buried according to our custom.”
“I can promise you that every assistance will be offered. Perhaps the Deputy Commissioner has already given you that assurance.”
“Oh, yes. He was very forthcoming. A nice chap. I hear your pathologist spoke of an autopsy. There can be no autopsy.”
“I see.”
“A thorough enquiry will be held in Ng’ombwana.”
“Good.”
“And I think, since you have completed your investigations, have you not, it would be as well to find out if the good Gibson is in a similar case. If so I would suggest that the police, after leaving and at their convenience, kindly let me have a comprehensive report of their findings. In the meantime I shall set my house in order.”
As this was in effect an order to quit, Alleyn gave his assurance that there would be a complete withdrawal of the Yard forces. The Boomer expressed his appreciation of the trouble that had been taken and said, very blandly, that if the guilty person was discovered to be a member of his own household, Alleyn, as a matter of courtesy, would be informed. On the other hand the police would no doubt pursue their security precautions outside the Embassy. These pronouncements made such sweeping assumptions that there was nothing more to be said. Alleyn had begun to take his leave when the Boomer interrupted him.
He said: “There is one other matter I would like to settle.”
“Yes?”
“About the remainder of my stay in England. It is a little difficult to decide.”
“Does he,” Alleyn asked himself, “does the Boomer, by any blissful chance, consider taking himself back to Ng’ombwana? Almost at once? With the corpse, perhaps? What paeans of thanksgiving would spring from Gibson’s lips if it were so.”
“—the Buck House dinner party, of course, stands,” the Boomer continued. “Perhaps a quieter affair will be envisaged. It is not for me to say,” he conceded.
“When is that?”
“Tomorrow night. No. Tonight. Dear me, it is almost two in the morning!”
“Your other engagements?” Alleyn hinted.
“I shall cancel the tree-planting affair and of course I shall not attend the race-meeting. That would not look at all the thing,” he said rather wistfully, “would it?”
“Certainly not.”
“And then there’s the Chequers visit. I hardly know what to say.” And with his very best top-drawer manner to the fore, the Boomer turned graciously to Mr. Whipplestone.
“So difficult,” he said, “isn’t it? Now, tell me. What would you advise?”
This, Alleyn felt, was a question to try Mr. Whipplestone’s diplomatic resources to their limit. He rose splendidly to his ordeal.
“I’m quite sure,” he said, “that the Prime Minister and, indeed, all the organizations and hosts who had hoped to entertain Your Excellency will perfectly understand that this appalling affair puts anything of the sort out of the question.”
“Oh,” said the Boomer.
“Your Excellency need have no misgivings under that heading, at least,” Mr. Whipplestone gracefully concluded.
“Good,” said the Boomer, a trifle dismally, Alleyn thought.
“We mustn’t keep you up any longer,” Alleyn said, “but before we take ourselves off I would like, if I may, to ask one final rather unorthodox question.”
“What is that?”
“You are, I know, persuaded that neither the Ng’ombwanan waiter nor the guard — the mlinzi, is it? — is a guilty man.”
“I am sure of it.”
“And you believe, don’t you, that Mrs. Cockburn-Montfort was mistaken in thinking her assailant was an African?”
“She is a very stupid, hysterical woman. I place no value on anything she says.”
“Have they — the Cockburn-Montforts — any reason to harbour resentment against you or the Ambassador?”
“Oh, yes,” he said promptly. “They had reason and I’ve no doubt they still do. It is well known that the Colonel, having had a hand in the formation of our armed forces, expected to be retained and promoted. I believe he actually saw himself in a very exalted role. But, as you know, my policy has been to place my own people in all key positions. I believe the Colonel went into unwilling retirement, breathing fire. In any case,” the Boomer added as an afterthought, “he had become alcoholic and no longer responsible.”
“But they were asked to the reception?”
“Oh, yes! It was a suitable gesture. One could not ignore him. And now — what is this unorthodox question, my dear Rory?”
“Simply this. Do you suspect anyone — specifically — of the murder of your Ambassador?”
Again that well-remembered hooded look with the half-closed eyes. After a very long pause, the Boomer said: “I have no idea, beyond my absolute certainty of the innocence of the mlinzi.”
“One of your guests in the pavilion?”
“Certainly not.”
“I’m glad about that, at least,” said Alleyn drily.
“My dear boy!” For a moment Alleyn thought they were to be treated to one of those bursts of Homeric laughter, but instead his friend touched him gently on the shoulder and gave him a look of such anxiety and affection that he found himself oddly moved.
“Of course it was not a guest. Beyond that,” the Boomer said, “I have nothing to say.”
“Well, then—” Alleyn glanced at Fox and Mr. Whipplestone, who once more made appropriate motions for departure.
“I too have a question,” said the Boomer, and they checked. “My government wishes for a portrait to be hung in our Assembly. I would like, formally, to ask if your wife will accept this commission.”
“I’ll deliver the message,” said Alleyn, concealing his astonishment.
At the door he muttered to the others: “I’ll join you in a moment,” and when they had gone he said: “I’ve got to say this. You will look after yourself, won’t you?”