“In the mornings?”
“ ’Twas in the mornings.”
“You were there on the morning Mr. Watchman arrived in Ottercombe?”
She looked steadily at him. “I was,” said Miss Darragh.
“We saw where you had set up your easel. Miss Darragh, did you, from where you were working, overhear a conversation between Miss Moore and Mr. Watchman?”
Miss Darragh clasped her fat little paws together and looked dismally at Alleyn.
“Please,” said Alleyn.
“I did. I could not avoid it. By the time I’d decided I’d get up and show meself above the sky-line, it had gone so far I thought I had better not.”
She gave him a quick look and added hurriedly, “Please, now, don’t go thinking all manner of dreadful things.”
“What am I to think? Do you mean it was a love-scene?”
“Not in — no. No, the reverse.”
“A quarrel?”
“It was.”
“Was it of that scene you were thinking when you told me, this morning, to look further and look nearer home?”
“It was. I wasn’t thinking of her. God forbid. Don’t misunderstand me. I was not the only one who heard them. And that’s all I’ll say.”
She clutched her bag firmly and stood up. “As regards this searching,” added Miss Darragh, “the Superintendent let me off. He said you’d attend to ut.”
“I know,” said Alleyn. “Perhaps you won’t mind if Mrs. Ives goes up with you to your room.”
“Not the least in the world,” said Miss Darragh.
“Then I’ll send for her,” said Alleyn.
ii
While he waited for Harper and the chief constable, Alleyn brought his report up-to-date and discussed it with Fox, who remained weakly insubordinate, in his chair by the fire.
“It’s an ill wind,” said Fox, “that blows nobody any good. I take it that I’ve had what you might call a thorough spring-clean with the doctor’s tube taking the part of a vacuum cleaner, if the idea’s not too fanciful. I feel all the better for it.”
Alleyn grunted.
“I don’t know but what I don’t fancy a pipe,” continued Fox.
“You’ll have another spring-clean if you do.”
“Do you think so, Mr. Alleyn? In that case I’ll hold off. I fancy I hear a car, sir. Coming through the tunnel, isn’t it?”
Alleyn listened.
“I think so. We’ll get the C.C. to fix up a warrant. Well, Br’er Fox, it’s been a short, sharp go this time, hasn’t it?”
“And you were looking forward to a spell in the country, sir.”
“I was.”
“We’ll be here yet awhile, with one thing and another.”
“I suppose so. Here they are.”
A car drew up in the yard. The side door opened noisily, and Colonel Brammington’s voice sounded in the passage. He came in, with Harper and Oates at his heels. The Colonel was dressed in a dinner suit. He wore a stiff shirt with no central stud. It curved generously away from his person and through the gaping front could be seen a vast expanse of pink chest. Evidently he had, at some earlier hour, wetted his hair and dragged a comb through it. His shoe-laces were untied and his socks unsupported. Over his dinner-jacket he wore a green Tyrolese bicycling cape.
“I can’t apologize enough, sir,” Alleyn began, but the Chief Constable waved him aside.
“Not at all, Alleyn. A bore, but it couldn’t be helped. I am distended with rich food and wines. Strong meat belongeth to them that are of full age. I freely confess I outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine. It was, I flatter myself, a good dinner, but I shall not taunt you with a recital of its virtues.”
“I am sure it was a dinner in a thousand,” said Alleyn. “I hope you didn’t mind coming here, sir. Fox was still—”
“By heaven!” interrupted Colonel Brammington. “This pestilent poisoner o’er-tops it, does it not? The attempt, I imagine, was upon you both. Harper has told me the whole story. When will you make an arrest, Alleyn? May we send this fellow up the ladder to bed, and that no later than the Quarter Sessions? Let him wag upon a wooden nag. A pox on him! I trust you are recovered, Fox? Sherry, wasn’t it? Amontillado, I understand. Double sacrilege, by the Lord!”
Colonel Brammington hurled himself into a chair and asked for a cigarette. When this had been given him, he produced from his trousers pocket a crumpled mass of typescript which Alleyn recognized as the carbon copy of his report.
“I have been over the report, Alleyn,” said Colonel Brammington, “and while you expended your energies so happily in resuscitating the poisoned Fox (and by the way, our murderer carries the blacker stigma of a fox-poisoner) I read this admirable digest. I congratulate you. A masterly presentation of facts, free from the nauseating redundancies of most bureaucratic documents… I implored you to allow me to be your Watson. You consented. I come, full of my theory, ready to admit my blunders. Is there by any chance some flask of fermented liquor in this house to which cyanide has not been added? May we not open some virgin bottle?”
Alleyn went into the bar, found three sealed bottles of Treble Extra, chalked them up to himself and took them with glasses into the parlour.
“We should have a taster,” said Colonel Brammington. “Some Borgian attendant at our call. What a pity the wretched Nark is not here to perform this office.”
“There are times,” said Alleyn, “when I could wish that Mr. Nark had been the corpse in the case. I don’t think we need blench at the Treble Extra and I washed the glasses.”
He broke a paper seal, drew the cork, and poured out the beer.
“Really,” said Colonel Brammington, “I do feel a little timidly about it, I must say. Some fiendish device—”
“I don’t think so,” said Alleyn and took a pull at his beer. “It’s remarkably good.”
“You show no signs of stiffening limb or glassy eye. It is, as you say, good beer. Well now, Alleyn, I understand from Harper that you have all arrived at a decision. I, working independently, have also made up my mind. It would delight me to find we were in agreement and amuse me to learn that I was wrong. Will you indulge me so far to allow me to unfold the case as I see it?”
“We should be delighted, sir,” said Alleyn, thinking a little of his bed.
“Excellent,” said Colonel Brammington. He flattened out the crumpled report and Alleyn saw that he had made copious notes in pencil all over the typescript. “I shall relate my deductions in the order in which they came to me. I shall follow the example of all Watsons and offer blunder after blunder, inviting your compassionate scorn and remembering the observation that logic is only the art of going wrong with confidence. Are you all ready?”
“Quite ready, sir,” said Alleyn.
iii
“When first this case turned up,” said Colonel Brammington, “it seemed to me to be a moderately simple affair. The circumstances were macabre, the apparent weapon unlikely, but I accepted the weapon and rejoiced in the circumstances. It was an enlivening murder.”
He turned his prominent eyes on Harper, who looked scandalized.
“After all,” said Colonel Brammington, “I did not know the victim and I frankly confess I adore a murder. Pray, Mr. Harper, do not look at me in that fashion. I want the glib and oil art to speak and purpose not I enjoy a murder and I enjoyed this one. It seemed to me that Legge had anointed the dart with malice aforethought and prussic acid, had prepared the ground with exhibitions of skill, and had deliberately thrown awry. He had overheard Watchman’s story of his idiosyncrasy for the cyanide. He had seen Pomeroy put the bottle in the cupboard. Cyanide had been found on the dart. What more did we need? True, the motive was lacking, but when I learnt that you suspected Legge of being a gaol-bird, a sufficient motive appeared. Legge had established himself in this district in a position of trust, he handled moneys, he acquired authority. Watchman, by his bantering manner, suggested that he recognized Legge. Legge feared he would be exposed. Legge therefore murdered Watchman. That was my opinion until this afternoon.”