Chapter XIX
The Chief Constable as Watson
i
“I’ve reported for duty, if you please, Mr. Alleyn,” said Fox.
“You unspeakable old ninny,” said Alleyn, “go back to bed.”
“With all respect, sir, I’d rather not. I’ve had a very pleasant nap and am quite myself again. So if you’ll allow me—”
“Br’er Fox,” said Alleyn, “are we to have a row?”
“I hope not, sir, I’m sure,” said Fox tranquilly. “Six years, I think it is now, and never a moment’s unpleasantness, thanks to your tact and consideration.”
“Damn you, go to bed.”
“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather—”
“Mr. Fox,” Alleyn began very loudly and stopped short. They stared at each other. Harper coughed and moved to the door. Alleyn swore violently, seized Fox by the arm, and shoved him into an armchair. He then knelt on the harlequin rug and lit the fire.
“I’d be obliged, Nick,” said Alleyn over his shoulder, “if you’d bring Colonel Brammington here. Would you explain that circumstances over which I appear to have no control oblige me to remain at the Plume of Feathers.”
“I’m quite able to drive—” Fox began.
“You shut up,” said Alleyn warmly.
Harper went out.
“Offences against discipline,” said Alleyn, “are set forth in the Police Regulations under seventeen headings, including neglect of duty and disobedience to orders, together with a general heading covering discreditable conduct.” He looked up from the fire. “Discreditable conduct,” he repeated.
Fox was shaken up with soundless subterranean chuckles.
“I’m going into the tap-room,” said Alleyn. “If you move out of that chair I’ll damn well serve you with a Misconduct Form. See Regulation 13.”
“I’ll get the Super in as my witness, sir,” said Fox. “See Regulation 17.” And at this pointless witticism he went off into an ecstasy of apoplectic mirth.
Alleyn returned to the tap-room, where Oates still kept guard. Miss Darragh was knitting in the inglenook, Parish stood near the shuttered windows, Cubitt was drawing in the battered sketch-book he always carried in his pocket. Abel glowered in a corner. Mr. Nark wore the expression of one who had been made to feel unpopular.
Alleyn said: “You may open up again if you wish, Mr. Pomeroy. I’m sorry to have kept you all so long. Until you and your rooms had been searched, we had no alternative. To-morrow, you will be asked to sign the statements you have made to Mr. Harper. In the meantime, if you wish, you may go to your rooms. You will not be allowed to leave the premises until further orders. Mr. Nark may go home.”
From the stairs came the sound of heavy steps. Harper and the second constable came down with Legge between them. Alleyn had left the tap-room door open. Six pairs of eyes turned to watch Legge go out
Miss Darragh suddenly called out: “Cheer up, now. It’s nothing at all, man. I’ll go bail for you.”
Will started forward.
“I want to speak to him.”
“Certainly,” said Alleyn.
“I’m sorry it has turned out this way, mate,” said Will, “damned injustice and nothing less. It won’t make any difference with the Party. You know that. We’ll stick by you. Wish I’d bloodied t’other nose and gone to clink along with you.”
“They’ve got a down on me,” said Legge desolately.
“I know that. Good luck!”
“Come along, now,” said Harper. “Get a move on. Ready, Oates?”
Oates went out to them and Alleyn shut the door.
“Well,” said Parish. “I call that a step in the right direction, Mr. Alleyn.”
“For God’s sake, Seb, hold your tongue,” said Cubitt.
“What d’you mean by that, Mr. Parish?” demanded Will. “You’d better be careful what you’re saying, hadn’t you?”
“That’s no way to speak, sonny,” said Abel.
“While I’ve a tongue in my head—” began Will.
“You’ll set a guard on it, I hope,” said Alleyn. “Good night, gentlemen.”
They filed out one by one. Parish was the only one who spoke. With his actor’s instinct for an efficient exit, he turned in the doorway.
“I imagine,” he said, looking steadily at Alleyn, “that I shan’t be run in for contempt, if I venture to suggest that this gentleman’s departure marks the beginning of the end.”
“Oh, no,” said Alleyn politely. “We shan’t run you in for that, Mr. Parish.”
Parish gave a light laugh and followed the others upstairs.
Only Miss Darragh remained. She put her knitting into a large chintz bag, took off her spectacles and looked steadily at Alleyn.
“I suppose you had to take that poor fellow in charge,” she said. “He behaved very foolishly. But he’s a mass of nerves, you know. It’s a doctor he’s needing, not a policeman.”
“Who? Mr. Montague Thringle?” asked Alleyn vaguely.
“So the cat’s out of the bag, is ut?” said Miss Darragh placidly. “Ah, well, I suppose ’twas bound to be. I’ve kept my end of the bargain.”
“I’d very much like to know what it was,” said Alleyn.
“Didn’t you guess?”
“I wondered if by chance Lord Bryonie’s family had promised to keep an eye on Mr. Thringle.”
“Ah, you’ll end in a cocked hat with a plume in ut,” said Miss Darragh, “if ’tis cocked hats they give to Chief Commissioners. That’s ut, sure enough. Me poor cousin Bryonie always felt he’d been responsible for the crash. He was very indiscreet, it seems, and might have helped to patch things up if he’d kept his wits about ’um. But he didn’t. He’d no head for business and he only half-suspected there was anything illegal going on. But he said he’d only learned one kind of behaviour and when it didn’t fit in with finance he was entirely at sea and thought maybe he’d better hold his peace. But it wasn’t in his nature not to talk and that was the downfall of ’um. The jury saw that he’d been no more than a cat’s-paw, but when he got off with the lighter sentence there was a great deal of talk that ’twas injustice and that his position saved him. Thringle felt so himself, and said so. Me cousin never lost his faith in Thringle, who seemed to have cast a kind of spell over ’um, though you wouldn’t think ut possible, would you, to see Thringle now? But in those days he was a fine-looking fellow. Dark as night, he was, with a small imperial, and his own teeth instead of those dreadful china falsehoods they gave ’um in prison. It’s no wonder, at all, you didn’t know ’um from Adam when you saw ’um. Well, the long and short of ut ’twas that, before he died, the family promised poor Bryonie they’d look after Mr. Thringle when he came out of gaol. He was on their conscience and I won’t say he didn’t know ut and make the most of ut. We kept in touch with ’um and he wrote from here saying he’d changed his name to Legge and that he needed money. We’ve not much of that to spare, but we had a family conference and, as I was planning a little sketching jaunt anyway, I said I’d take ut at Ottercombe and see for meself how the land lay. So that was what I did. Don’t ask me to tell you the nature of our talks for they were in confidence and had nothing to say to the case. I wish with all me heart you could have left ’um alone, but I see ’twas impossible. He fought those two big policemen like a Kilkenny cat, silly fellow. But if it’s a question of bailing him out I’ll be glad to do ut.”
“Thank you,” said Alleyn, “I’ll see that the right people are told about it. Miss Darragh, have you done any sketching along the cliffs from the tunnel to Coombe Head?”
Miss Darragh looked at him in consternation. “I have,” she said.