“What is he saying about me? He is speaking lies. You must not believe what he tells you. It is because I was a German. They are in league against me. They think of me as an enemy, still.”
“Go on, Ernie,” Alleyn said.
“No!” Ralph Stayne shouted, and then, with an air that seemed to be strangely compounded of sheepishness and defiance, added:
“She’s right. It’s not fair.”
Dr. Otterly said, “I really do think, Alleyn —”
Mrs. Bünz gabbled, “I thank you. I thank you, gentlemen.” She moved forward.
“You keep out of yur,” Ernie said and backed away from her. “Don’t you go and overlook us’ns.”
He actually threw up his forearm as if to protect himself, turned aside and spat noisily.
“There you are!” Simon said angrily to Alleyn. “That’s what that all adds up to.”
“All right, all right,” Alleyn said.
He looked past Simon at the smithy. Fox had come out and was massively at hand. Behind him stood the rest of the Andersen brothers, fitfully illuminated. Fox and one of the other men had torches and, whether by accident or design, their shafts of light reached out like fingers to Mrs. Bünz’s face.
It was worth looking at. As the image from a lantern slide that is being withdrawn may be momentarily overlaid by its successor, so alarm modulated into fanaticism in Mrs. Bünz’s face. Her lips moved. Out came another little jet of breath. She whispered, “Wunderbar!” She advanced a pace towards Ernie, who at once retired upon his brothers. She clasped her hands and became lyrical.
“It is incredible,” Mrs. Bünz whispered, “and it is very, very interesting and important. He believes me to have the Evil Eye. It is remarkable.”
Without a word, the five brothers turned away and went back into the smithy.
“You are determined, all of you,” Alleyn said with unusual vehemence, “to muck up the course of justice, aren’t you? What are you three doing here?”
They had walked down from the pub, it appeared. Mrs. Bünz wished to send a telegram and to buy some eucalyptus from the village shop, which she had been told would be open. Ralph was on his way home. Dr. Otterly had punctured a tyre and was looking for an Andersen to change the wheel for him.
“I’m meant to be dining with you at the castle,” he said. “Two nights running, I may tell you, which is an acid test, metaphorically and clinically, for any elderly stomach. I’ll be damn’ late if I don’t get moving.”
“I’ll drive you up.”
“Like me to change your wheel, Doc?” Simon offered.
“I didn’t expect you’d be here. Yes, will you, Begg? And do the repair? I’ll pick the car up on my way back and collect the wheel from your garage to-morrow.”
“Okey-doke, sir,” Simon said. “I’ll get cracking, then.” He tramped off, whistling self-consciously.
“Well,” Ralph Stayne said from out of the shadows behind Alleyn’s car, “I’ll be off, too, I think. Good-night.”
They heard the snow squeak under his boots as he walked away.
“I also,” said Mrs. Bünz.
“Mrs. Bünz,” Alleyn said, “do you really believe it was only the look in your eye that made Ernie say what he did about you?”
“But yes. It is one of the oldest European superstitions. It is fascinating to find it. The expression ‘overlooking’ proves it. I am immensely interested,” Mrs. Bünz said rather breathlessly.
“Go and send your telegram,” Alleyn rejoined crossly. “You are behaving foolishly, Mrs. Bünz. Nobody, least of all the police, wants to bully you or dragoon you or brain-wash you, or whatever you’re frightened of. Go and get your eucalyptus and snuff it up and let us hope it clears your head for you. Guten Abend, Mrs. Bünz.”
He walked quickly up the path to Fox.
“I’ll hand you all that on a plate, Fox,” he said. “Keep the tabs on Ernie. If necessary, we’ll have to lock him up. What a party! All right?”
“All right, Mr. Alleyn.”
“Hell, we must go! Where’s Otterly? Oh, there you are. Come on.”
He ran down the path and slipped into the car. Dr. Otterly followed slowly.
Fox watched them churn off in the direction of Mardian Castle.
Chapter X
Dialogue for a Dancer
The elderly parlour-maid put an exquisite silver dish filled with puckered old apples on the table. Dame Alice, Dulcie, Alleyn and Dr. Otterly removed their mats and finger bowls from their plates. Nobody helped themselves to apples.
The combined aftermath of pallid soup, of the goose that was undoubtedly the victim of Ernie’s spleen and of Queen Pudding lingered in the cold room together with the delicate memory of a superb red wine. The parlour-maid returned, placed a decanter in front of Dame Alice and then withdrew.
“Same as last night,” Dame Alice said. She removed the stopper and pushed the decanter towards Dr. Otterly.
“I can scarcely believe my good fortune,” he replied. He helped himself and leant back in his chair. “We’re greatly honoured, believe me, Alleyn. A noble wine.”
The nobility of the port was discussed for some time. Dame Alice, who was evidently an expert, barked out information about it, no doubt in much the same manner as that of her male forebears. Alleyn changed down (or up, according to the point of view) into the appropriate gear and all the talk was of vintages, body and aroma. Under the beneficent influence of the port even the dreadful memory of wet Brussels sprouts was gradually effaced.
Dulcie, who was dressed in brown velveteen with a lace collar, had recovered her usual air of vague acquiescence, though she occasionally threw Alleyn a glance that seemed to suggest that she knew a trick worth two of his and could look after herself if the need arose.
In the drawing-room, Alleyn had seen an old copy of one of those publications that are dedicated to the profitable enshrinement of family relationships. Evidently, Dame Alice and Dulcie had consulted this work with reference to himself. They now settled down to a gruelling examination of the kind that leaves not a second-cousin unturned nor a collateral unexplored. It was a pastime that he did not particularly care for and it gave him no opportunity to lead the conversation in the direction he had hoped it would take.
Presently, however, when the port had gone round a second time, some execrable coffee had been offered and a maternal great-aunt of Alleyn’s had been tabulated and dismissed, the parlour-maid went out and Dame Alice suddenly shouted:
“Got yer man?”
“Not yet,” Alleyn confessed.
“Know who did it?”
“We have our ideas.”
“Who?”
“It’s a secret.”
“Why?”
“We might be wrong and then what fools we’d look.”
“I’ll tell yer who I’d back for it.”
“Who?” asked Alleyn in his turn.
“Ernest Andersen. He took the head off that goose you’ve just eaten and you may depend upon it he did as much for his father. Over-excited. Gets above himself on Sword Wednesday, always. Was it a full moon last night, Otters?”
“I — yes, I rather think — yes. Though, of course, one couldn’t see it.”
“There yar! All the more reason. They always get worst when the moon’s full. Dulcie does, don’t you, Dulcie?” asked her terrible aunt.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Akky, I wasn’t listening.”
“There yar! I said you always get excited when the moon’s full.”
“Well, I think it’s awfully pretty,” Dulcie said, putting her head on one side.
“How,” Alleyn intervened rather hurriedly, “do you think Ernie managed it, Dame Alice?”
“That’s for you to find out.”
“True.”
“Pass the port. Help yerself.”
Alleyn did so.
“Have you heard about the great hoard of money that’s turned up at Copse Forge?” he asked.
They were much interested in this news. Dame Alice said the Andersens had hoarded money for as long as they’d been at the forge, a matter of four centuries and more, and that Dan would do just the same now that his turn had come.