“There’s a sort of fancy steel fretwork affair in the wall of the lift,” said Fox. “With knobs on. There’s a bit of a smear on one of the knobs. It looks as if it had been wiped.”
“Does it, indeed?” Alleyn murmured and swiftly drew away his hand. “We’ll get him out of here,” he added.
“I’ve left orders for the mortuary van.”
“Yes. Thank you, Curtis. You’ll do the post-mortem tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“I think before I see the family we’ll take a look at the lift. You can get to work in here, Bailey. Try those bruises for prints. You’d better go all over the face. It’s a faint hope but you’d better have a shot at it. Then the skewer. Then come along to the lift. And, Thompson, you get some shots of the head, will you?”
“Very good, Mr. Alleyn.”
Alleyn did not move away from the bed. He stared at the face on the pillow and the single eye in the face seemed, in return, to glare sightlessly at him. Alleyn stooped and touched the jaw and neck.
“No rigor yet?”
“Just beginning. Why?”
“We may have to perform an unpleasant experiment. Is the nurse still here?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Kantripp.
“When Bailey and Thompson have finished, get her to tidy him up. He’s a nightmare as he is. Come on, Fox.”
Fox had caused the mechanism of the lift to be switched off, had sealed the doors and had posted a uniformed constable on the landing. The lift was dark inside and, waiting there at the Lampreys’ landing, it wore an air of expectancy.
“Window at the top of the door,” said Alleyn.
“That’s right, sir.”
“Didn’t you say that he sat in here, yelling for his wife? With the doors shut?”
“So the butler said.”
“He might have been whisked down below.”
“Perhaps he kept his thumb on the stop button, Mr. Alleyn.”
“Perhaps he did.” Alleyn switched on the light “Now, where was he?”
“From all accounts he was sitting in the right-hand corner with his head leaning against that steel grid affair and his bowler hat tilted over his face. Of course the lift’s been used since then. The doctor, for one, came up in it. As soon as our chaps came in they attended to that. Still, it’s a pity.”
“It is.” Alleyn peered at the steel fretwork of the wall. “There’s the smear you talked about on that bulge or knob or what-you-will.”
“Very fancy design, isn’t it, sir?”
“Very, Br’er Fox. Grapes, you see, mixed up with decorative lumps. Modern applied art. How tall was he?”
“Six foot and a half-inch,” said Fox immediately.
“Good. You’re six foot, aren’t you? Just sit at the other end, Foxkin. Yes. Yes, I fancy that if you sat there and I caught you a snorter on the right side of your head your left temple would miss that corresponding knob by half an inch or so. However, that’s altogether too vague. It looks as if we’ll have to get him in here to try. I see these knobs have got slight depressions in the surface. Look at our particular one. Somebody, as you capably observed, has wiped it. And the seat, as well. Not very proficiently. Bailey will have to deal with this. Hullo!”
Alleyn stooped and flashed his torch under the seat. “I suppose you’ve already spotted those, you old devil,” he observed.
“Yes, sir. I thought I’d leave them for you.”
“What delicacy! What tact!” Alleyn reached under the seat and drew out a pair of heavy driving gloves with long gauntlets. He and Fox squatted on the floor and examined them.
“Bloody,” said Fox.
“Blood, or something that looks like it. Between the middle and the third fingers of the left hand, and on the inner surface of those fingers. And a little on the palm. Can you see any on the right-hand glove? Yes. Again, a little on the palm. Bless my soul, Fox, we must take care of these. Give them to Bailey, like a good chap, and then tell me the whole story as far as you’ve got.”
Fox went into 26. The constable cleared his throat. Alleyn gazed at the lift well. The door into 25 opened and a good-looking, pale young man peered out onto the landing.
“Oh, hullo,” he said politely. “I’m sorry to bother you. You’re Mr. Alleyn, I expect.”
“Yes,” said Alleyn.
“Yes, I’m so sorry to make a nuisance of myself, but I thought I’d just ask if it was likely to be a very long time before you began to pitch into us. I’m Henry Lamprey.”
“How do you do,” said Alleyn politely. “We’ll be as quick as we can. Not long now.”
“Oh, good. It’s just that my mother is rather exhausted, poor thing, and I think she ought to go to bed. That is, of course, if my Aunt Violet can be moved off the bed or even out of the room which I must say seems to be doubtful… What is the right technique, do you know, with widows of murdered men who are also one’s near relations?”
“Is Lady Charles with Lady Wutherwood at the moment?” asked Alleyn. Henry came out on the landing and shut the door. He stood in the shadow of the lift.
“Yes,” he said. “My mother is in there and so is Tinkerton who is my Aunt Violet’s maid. It appears that my Aunt Violet is in a sort of coma or trance and really doesn’t notice who goes or comes. But you won’t want to be bothered with all that. I was only going to suggest that if you could see my mother first and then Aunt Violet it would give us a chance to bundle Mama off to bed.”
“I’ll see what can be done about it. I’m afraid in this sort of business—”
“Oh, I know,” agreed Henry. “The rest of us are all quite prepared for the dawn to rise on our lies and evasions.”
“I hope not,” said Alleyn.
“Actually we are a truthful family, only the things that happen to us are so peculiar that nobody ever believes in them. Still, I expect you’ve got a sort of winnowing ear for people’s testimonies and will know in a flash if we try any hanky-panky.”
“I expect so,” agreed Alleyn gravely. From the shadow of the lift Henry seemed to look solemnly at him.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m afraid I expect so too. My father suggested that you ought to be offered a drink and some sandwiches but the rest of us knew you wouldn’t break bread with suspected persons. Or is that only in books? Anyway, sir, if you would like us to send something out here or if you would like to join us for a drink, we do hope you will.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Alleyn, “but we don’t on duty.”
“Or if there’s anything at all that we can do.”
“I don’t think there’s anything at the moment. Oh, as you’re here, I may as well ask you. Who is the owner of those gloves?”
“What gloves?” Henry’s voice sounded blank.
“A pair of heavy driving gloves with stiff gauntlets.”
“Lined with rather disgusting fur?”
“Fur-lined, yes.”
“Sound like mine,” said Henry. “Where are they?”
“I’ll return them to you. My colleague took them into the flat.”
“Where did you find them?”
“In the lift,” said Alleyn.
“But I wasn’t in the lift.”
“No?”
“No. I expect…” Henry stopped short.
“Yes?”
“Nothing. I can’t imagine how they got there. You needn’t return them, sir. I don’t really think I want them any more.”
“I don’t think you would,” agreed Alleyn, “if you saw them.”
Henry’s face shone like ivory on that dimly lit landing. His eyes were like black coals under the cold whiteness of his forehead.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“They are stained.”