“I don’t in the least remember.”
“Well — as long as two years ago?”
“Really, I’ve no idea.”
“Try.”
“But I don’t remember. One doesn’t remember. I’ve given her odd things from time to time. You make me feel as if I’m parading — as if I’m making a lot of it. As if it were charity. Or patronage. It was nothing. Women do those sorts of things.”
“I wouldn’t press it if I didn’t think it might be relevant.”
“How can it be of the slightest interest?”
“A green dress? If she had it two years ago? Think.”
She was on her feet with a quick controlled movement.
“But that’s nonsense! You mean — Wally?”
“Yes. I do. The Green Lady.”
“But — most people have always thought he imagined her! And even if he didn’t — there are lots of green dresses in the summertime.”
“Of course. What I’m trying to find out is whether this was one of them. Is there nothing that would call to mind when you gave it to her?”
She waited for a moment, looking down at her hands.
“Nothing. It was over a year ago, I’m sure.” She turned aside. “Even if I could remember, which I can’t, I don’t think I should want to tell you. It can’t have any bearing on this ghastly business — how could it? — and, suppose you’re right, it’s private to Dulcie Carstairs.”
“Perhaps she’d remember.”
“I don’t believe it. I don’t for a moment believe she would think of playing a — a fantastic trick like that. It’s not like her. She was never the Green Lady.”
“I haven’t suggested she was, you know.” Alleyn walked over to her. She lifted her head and looked at him. Her face was ashen.
“Come,” he said, “don’t let us fence any more. You were the Green Lady, weren’t you?”
VII
The Yard
He wondered if she would deny it and what he could say if she did. Very little. His assumption had been based largely on a hunch, and he liked to tell himself that he didn’t believe in hunches. He knew that she was deeply shocked. Her white face and the movement of her hands gave her away completely; but she was, as Miss Emily had remarked, a woman of character.
She said: “I have been very stupid. I suppose I should congratulate you. What gave you the idea?”
“I happened to notice your expression when that monstrous girl walked out from behind the boulder. You looked angry. But, more than that, I’ve been told Wally sticks to it that his Green Lady was tall and very beautiful. Naturally, I thought of you.”
A door slammed upstairs. Someone, a man, cleared his throat raucously.
She twisted her hands into his. Her face was a mask of terror. “Mr. Alleyn, promise me — for God’s sake promise me you won’t speak about this to my husband. It won’t help you to discuss it with him. I swear it won’t. You don’t know what would happen if you did.”
“Does he not know?”
She tried to speak, but only looked at him in terror.
“He does know?”
“’It makes no difference. He would be — he would be angry — that you knew.”
“Why should he mind so much? You said what you said, I expect, impulsively. And it worked. Next morning the boy’s hands were clean. You couldn’t undo your little miracle.”
“No, no, no, you don’t understand. It’s not that. It’s — O God, he’s coming down. O God, how can I make you? What shall I do? Please, please.”
“If it’s possible I shall say nothing.” He held her hands firmly for a moment until they stopped writhing in his. “Don’t be frightened,” he said and let her go. “He’d better not see you like this. Where does that door lead to? The kitchen?” He opened it. “There you are. Quickly.”
In a moment she was gone.
Major Barrimore came heavily downstairs. He yawned, crossed the little hall and went into the old Private Taproom. The slide between it and the parlour was still there. Alleyn heard the clink of glass. A midafternoon drinker, he thought, and wondered if the habit was long-established. He picked up his suitcase, went quietly into the hall, and out at the front door. He then noisily returned.
“Anyone at home?” he called.
After an interval, the door of the Private opened and Barrimore came out, dabbing at his mouth with a freshly laundered handkerchief and an unsteady hand. He was, as usual, impeccably turned-out. His face was puffy and empurpled, and his manner sombre.
“Hullo,” he said. “You.”
“I’m on my way to sign in,” Alleyn said cheerfully. “Can you spare me a few minutes? Routine, as usual. One’s never done with it.”
Barrimore stared dully at him and then opened the door of the parlour. “In here,” he said.
Margaret Barrimore had left the faintest recollection of her scent behind her, but this was soon lost in the Major’s blended aura of Scotch-cigar-and-hair-lotion.
“Well,” he said. “What’s it this time? Made any arrests?”
“Not yet.”
“Everybody nattering about the boy, I s’pose. You’d think they’d all got their knife into the poor kid.”
“You don’t agree?”
“I don’t. He’s too damn’ simple, f’one thing. No harm in him, f’r ’nother. You get to know ’bout chap’s character in a regiment. Always pick the bad ’uns. He’s not.”
“Have you any theories, yourself?”
The Major, predictably, said: “No names, no pack-drill.”
“Quite. But I’d be glad of your opinion.”
“You wouldn’t, old boy. You’d hate it.”
Now, Alleyn thought, this is it. I know what this is going to be. “I?” he said. “Why?”
“Heard what they’re saying in the village?”
“No. What are they saying?”
“I don’t necessarily agree, you know. Stilclass="underline" they hated each other’s guts, those two. Face it.”
“Which two?”
“The females. Beg pardon: the ladies. Miss P. and Miss C. And she was there, old boy. Can’t get away from it. She was on the spot. Hanging up her bloody notice.”
“How do you know?” Alleyn said and was delighted to speak savagely.
“Here! Steady! Steady, the Buffs!”
“The path has been closed. No one has been allowed near the enclosure. How do you know Miss Pride was there? How do you know she hung up her notice?”
“By God, sir—”
“I’ll tell you. You were there yourself.”
The blood had run into patches in the Major’s jowls.
“You must be mad,” he said.
“You were on the path. You took shelter behind an outcrop of stone, by the last bend. After Miss Pride had left and returned to the hotel, you came out and went to the enclosure.”
He was taking chances again, but, looking at that outfaced blinking man, he knew he was justified.
“You read the notice, lost your temper and threw it into the mud. The important thing is that you were there. If you want to deny it you are, of course, at perfect liberty to do so.”
Barrimore drew his brows together and went through a parody of brushing his moustache. He then said: “Mind if I get a drink?”
“You’d better not, but I can’t stop you.”
“You’re perfectly right,” said the Major. He went out. Alleyn heard him go into the Private, and pushed back the slide. The Major was pouring himself a Scotch. He saw Alleyn and said: “Can I persuade you? No. S’pose not. Not the drill.”
“’Come back,” Alleyn said.
He swallowed his whisky neat and returned.
“Better,” he said. “Needed it.” He sat down. “There’s a reasonable explanation,” he said.